


heart full of love and murder

by Ashling, herequeerandreadytofight



Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: A good time had by all, ALFIE SOLOMONS IS A FATHER AND HE'S DOING HIS BEST OKAY, F/F, F/M, HE LOVES HIS WIFE HE LOVES HIS CHILDREN HE LOVES BAKING AND HE LOVES BLOODY REVENGE, JUST GONNA FUCKING SMASH THAT BECHDEL TEST BOYOS, JUST REALLY GONNA POUND IT INTO THE GROUND THERE, M/M, THIS IS FIRST AND FOREMOST A KID FIC, honestly just the most delightful shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-15
Updated: 2018-05-01
Packaged: 2019-04-23 01:57:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 38,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14322009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ashling/pseuds/Ashling, https://archiveofourown.org/users/herequeerandreadytofight/pseuds/herequeerandreadytofight
Summary: do you like KINDERGARTEN COP?? do you like FAMILY GOOD TIMES?? do you like EVERYTHING EXTRA?? well come to this DOPE ASS FANFICTION and get ready for your heart to fuckin MELTWhen Alfie's wife Abigail goes to New York for a few days and he has to mind his three daughters and one tiny son, his world quickly begins to fall apart. ANGST. FLUFF. DRAMA. ROMANCE. GET ITAbigail • 36 • queen of sass and that assAlfie • 39 • beardy mumbleShoshana • 17 • Aphrodite at her busiestMiriam • 14 • baby gay, witchEsther • 10 • a hellionJacob • 3 • the goodest boy





	1. A Very Difficult Morning

**Author's Note:**

> this was made first and foremost by us, for us, as something that would hold everything our greedy little hearts desired
> 
> thus, it may not be the tightest shit, but it sure as fuck is the juiciest

Alfie blinked once, shot out of bed, and smacked the alarm clock with righteous fury. It was the weekend, but it was not 9am. It was not even 8am. It was not even 7am. It was-

“It’s February 23, honey,” said Abigail beside him. She hadn’t even bothered to throw back the covers yet.

“Aw, fuck.” He sat down heavily on the bed, then flopped back with an aggrieved bounce.

“We talked about this, you oaf.” She gave him a smile and a sleepy smack on the shoulder, then sat up and had herself a cigarette.

He looked up mournfully at her. “I forgot.”

“You forget nothing.” She passed him the lighter, and he grudgingly sat up.

“I wanted to forget.”

“Don’t be so fucking dramatic, it’s only a wedding. I’ll be back in four days.”

“You sure it’s only one wedding, there, mate?”

“It’s one wedding and two days around New York. Uncle Simcha wants me to look at his will, and I want to do some shopping.”

“I don’t know which is more dangerous.”

“I can take care of myself in the scrum of cousins. And, Alfie, if that’s a dig at my expenses--”

“The last time you went shopping, I ended up wearing a blue shirt.”

“My bags are packed, Alfie. Do you really want to spend your last--” She checked. “--twenty-seven minutes with me arguing over my attempts to drag you into the smallest of sartorial innovation?”

He considered this. Then he chucked his cigarette into the bedside ashtray and pulled her into his lap. “I’ll think of something.”

 

* * *

 

“It says there, on that list, written by your mum herself, that I am not to feed you cake for breakfast. Says there on the fucking list! Near the fucking top!”

Miriam’s eyes narrowed. As she and her father stared each other down over the breakfast table, Esther calmly walked by and picked up the long white strip of paper. She scanned it.

“It is near the top,” she said. They both looked at her.

Just as calmly as before, she folded the paper in half, stuffed it in her mouth, and began to chew.

Alfie stared. “Who in the fuck am I raising, eh? Wild fucking animals. I made some perfectly good scones. And tea.” 

Miriam still had her arms crossed. “I want cake. I’m on my monthlies.” 

He cut her a piece himself and left the room with an awkward pat on the shoulder. 

Miriam smirked at Esther as she crossed her legs. 

“You had them last week, you lying cow.” 

“Well Mum wouldn’t let me have cake then, so I’m owed some. There’s a little left. Where’s Shoshana?” 

Esther plopped down at the table, skinny legs and elbows jutting out. “Still asleep. She snuck out last night.” 

Jacob toddled into the room, still in his pyjamas. Esther pulled him up into her lap and began fussing with his hair which stood up in cowlicks. He began to munch the scones in front of him, well used to being treated like a living doll. 

“Well she needs to wake up. Dad’ll be angry.”

“You do it.” 

Miriam inhaled the last of the cake. “Shoshana!” 

“Oi! No fucking yelling in the house!” bellowed Alfie from the safety of the parlor. 

“Shoshana won’t wake up!” 

Alfie grumbled as he pushed himself up off the couch. He stopped by the kitchen to plant a kiss on Jacob’s head and brush the crumbs off of his face before making his way back to the girls’ bedroom. He knocked at the door before barging in. 

“I fucking heard you, I’m coming.” She stopped brushing her hair. “Oh, sorry Dad I thought you were Esther.” 

“You lot have got to get ready. Can you take the girls to school before work?” Shoshanna pouted. 

“But Dad, it takes so long. Can’t you do it before you go to the bakery?” 

Alfie scratched at his beard. “Suppose so, yeah. No lipstick though, your mother says you’re not old enough.” 

Shoshanah smiled her biggest smile. “Of course not, Dad.” She waited till he’d shut the door behind her before applying and blotting in one practiced motion. 

“School!” Alfie declared. It was a vague demand, but strident, which he figured was good enough. 

Nobody moved.

“Come on, up you get, where’s your bag--fucking hell, what happened to the scones? Jacob? Listen, little man, you can’t--Esther, what is that?”

“‘Sforaproject.”

“Let me see it.”

She stared mulishly up at him.

“C’mon, it’s too big to swallow, eh? Give it here.  _ Give  _ it--Jesus! Where did you--” He checked his pockets. “You cannot fucking steal my things, okay? And if they’re guns, you can  _ especially fucking  _ not.”

“‘Salittleone.”

“The size of the gun doesn’t matter, it’s the size of the bullet. Why did you need this, anyway?” He squatted. “Oi. Look at me. You having some troubles?”

“Wasgonnateachem.”

“Who?”

“Iwasgonnateach. Thegirls.”

“Which girls?”

“I was gonna teach the girls after school, at the tea party. How to shoot. And everyone was going to bring a penny and we were going to do it as our fundraiser.”

“You were--what do you need the money for?”

“Temple repairs. They said girls versus boys. And some of the boys throw papers, but they don’t hire girls. And we got bored. And they want to know. And I was going to give it back.”

Alfie rubbed his beard. “Very fucking entrepreneurial, mate.”

Esther had brightened considerably at the relatively encouraging response this was all getting. “You won’t tell Mum?” She was above wheedling, but she was not above puppy eyes.

“I’m keeping the gun, and we will have ourselves a talk about this later.” He patted her head by way of dismissal. “Miriam, where’s Jacob?”

“In the bathroom. He likes washing his face.”

“It takes all of five fucking seconds.”

“One time, I let him wash his face, walked down to Uma’s to get an extra egg, and came back. Still washing his face.”

Alfie made a noise indicative of a small, squat motor about to blow to pieces.

“I’ll get him.”

He paused before leaving the kitchen. “How is there jam on the fucking- no. I’ll deal with that later.” 

Following the sound of gleeful splashing, Alfie tried to swing open the door. Locked. Of course. 

“Jacob, mate, let Daddy in, alright?” 

“No!” This was punctuated with the sound of water slopping onto the floor. 

“Jacob.” 

Shoshanna clicked past him in the hallway and, pulling a bobby pin out of her bun, jiggled the bathroom door for a moment before it opened to reveal a completely soaking wet Jacob. 

“Who let him in the bathroom?” 

“Is that lipstick?” 

“Alright bye Dad! I’ll be late!” She was out the door in a heartbeat. Alright. Three to go. 

“Esther. Miriam. We are leaving now.” 

“But Dad I can’t find my shoes-” 

“I don’t feel very well maybe I should stay home today-” 

“Both of you will be outside and ready by the time I have Jacob dressed. No. No fucking negotiations, Esther.” Scooping Jacob up by the middle, he pointed at both girls. “Five minutes.” 

“Why in the bloody fuck do they make these buttons so small? Eh?” Jacob didn’t respond but kept tugging at his beard. “They do know you can’t dress yourself, right? Unless-” he squinted at him through his glasses “Can you dress yourself?” Jacob smiled one of those big heart tugging smiles and shook his head. “That’s all right, I don’t think I can dress you either.” Alfie’s big baker’s hands took twice as long with those buttons as he imagined Abigail’s would have, but he managed, somehow, to have Jacob looking halfway presentable. Hauling the little one over his shoulder to squeals of delight, he walked into the kitchen to find only Esther staring back at him. “What now?!” Miriam had painted her face like a clown. Miriam was taking her mother’s jewels in for a class bake sale. Miriam had absconded with a young gymnast. Miriam had--

“All ready, Dad?” Miriam walked in from the hall, looking as innocent as anything.

“Yes. I think so.” He did not think so--was almost positive that he was forgetting something--but was too late to do anything about it, like stop and think. “Out the door it is.”

The streets of Camden were bustling and even Alfie’s broad shoulders weren’t enough of a deterrent for passer by. Had Jacob not been perched on the aforementioned broad shoulders he might have been swept away in the sea of humanity. Esther clutched her dad’s hand, but motivated by adolescent stubbornness, Miriam stayed a step or two ahead. Finally, blessedly, they arrived at the steps of the school. Mr. Stevens, the vice principle had flagged him down before he had even crossed the gate into the school. 

“Mr. Solomons. Where’s your wife?” 

“Busy, innit? How can I help.” 

Esther shrunk into his side as Mr. Stevens looked down his nose at her. 

“We’ve had some complaints about your daughter. Apparently she’s been getting into fights with the boys at recess.” 

Alfie squatted, mentally cursing his knee. “This true?”

Esther nodded “But it’s not my fault they were making fun of Rachel and it’s not her fault she doesn’t have nice dresses and she has an accent because she’s from Russia, do you know how far that is?” 

Alfie sucked air through his teeth as he leveled his gaze at Mr. Stevens.

“Sounds like you’ve got a bullying problem, hmm? Esther, we’ll talk about this at home.” 

He hoisted Jacob out of a crowd of cooing girls and giving Esther and Miriam matching pats on the shoulder, strode out through the gates. 

It took a while to get to the bakery, but he enjoyed the walk with his boy high on his shoulder. Some members of the crowd stepped across the street to avoid him, but some others stopped him to chat. Jacob had more sweets foisted upon him than any three year old could reasonably handle. Finally, he swung open the doors to the bakery, full of men swearing and sweating through their aprons. Jacob squirmed in his arms, trying to get free. 

“Not here you don’t. You’ll get stuck in a vat and turned into mush. Wait till we’re upstairs.” 

Men were starting to goggle, and he noticed some of Tommy’s men sneaking glances at Jacob. Fuck ‘em. If they looked again, he’d blind them. Olly, bless him, kept his face neutral. He’d been at Jacob’s bris and he understood the situation. And the importance of the divide between his cozy flat with his daughters and Abigail and the dim light of the bakery. 

Just because Olly wasn’t judging didn’t mean that Alfie still couldn’t feel bad about the situation. Ideally, Alfie’s children would never see the bakery, but needs must, and he always assumed they’d learn a bit about the business eventually. He had taught some of them how to shoot, which was the first step. It was shooting, and handling people, and the rest of it was all paperwork.

Speaking of. When he got into his office, there was a fresh stack of it eyeing him accusingly on the desk, and not a child-friendly spot on the floor in sight. In fact there was literally an open bottle of rum sitting on the floor for some reason. He rubbed his face and sighed. “What are we going to do about you, then, eh?”

Jacob babbled something about the pretty horsey. That was funny, at least; the picture on the wall was from an article about Tommy’s horse getting second place in the Derby. Every goddamn time Tommy went into the office he made the slightest little grimace and it made Alfie’s day.

It also gave Alfie an idea. “Ollie, run down to the farriers’ and see if Goliath is there.” He had always hated nannies, servants of all kinds really, not because they were bad people but because they were people and more specifically, not family. Goliath was family, and Alfie figured that shoeing angry horses couldn’t be terribly much less difficult than dealing with one excitable baby, so…

When Goliath arrived, he was panting, and he looked a little wild. “What is it?” he demanded. 

“Aw, it’s not a fight, sorry. But look!” He held Jacob up. Jacob waved. “It’s the new generation, innit? It’s the light from which the very future of our people comes, it’s--”

“Anna potty.”

“Time for you to take him to the fucking bathroom, yeah?” 

Goliath looked put upon, but when didn’t he. Jacob toddled behind him, looking comically small in comparison but overjoyed to see his cousin. 

“Make sure he washes his hands! This place is fucking disgusting.” He settled in to the paperwork, perching his glasses at the end of his nose. He’d only made it partway through the first page before Goliath returned. 

“He won’t stop washing his face.” 

“Just pick him up. You’ve fucking knocked men out cold, you can’t pick up a three year old?” 

Goliath treaded back up the stairs heavily. Fucking tank of a man. Could fucking demolish a building if he put his mind to it. He came back down, gently holding a squirming Jacob in his arms. 

“Right. Take him to the park or some shit, yeah? Bring him back by lunch time and I’ll feed you both."

Goliath looked to be on the very verge of rolling his eyes, when Jacob booped his jaw with the weakest right hook of the century, and laughed. “Right,” Goliath rumbled, not bothering to whine about closing up shop, even, before he lumbered back out. 


	2. (Though if he did have to choose one daughter to kill a man in front of, it would definitely be Esther.)

It was a fairly peaceful morning, a few things aside. Those few things being: wossface with the scraggly beard was drinking on the job again, by significantly too much; one of his lawyers was yet again attempting to impose fees where there ought not be any; Abigail hadn’t called him yet (which perhaps made sense, as she was likely on the ship for the next day at least, but it still made him grumpy); and Tommy was slightly behind in the polls. Which, short-term, was amazing, but long-term, he found it would be much more enjoyable to beat someone with MP after their name than otherwise.

But all in all a decent morning. Having restrained himself from breaking the nose of wossface scraggly beard and, with even more difficulty, restrained himself from breaking the nose of the lawyer, he felt he deserved a treat and a break. Right, where was Jacob? He was no expert at children, but he felt sure that a visit to the park was not meant to last that long.

Heaving himself up from his chair, he went to peer out the window, and was disgruntled to find Jacob nowhere in sight. Clearly he hadn’t taught Goliath much. If this were Esther, even, she would have let sat Jacob down on the bench opposite his office and let him play there, in deference to what Abigail called paranoia and Alfie called pragmatism. (On some days. She could be even more protective under the right circumstances. Would she approve of having Goliath babysit? Most likely. Sometimes he suspected that she didn’t like Goliath much, but then, the boy had no sense of humor, which was hard on her…)

“There’s a package for you in the post,” said Olly as Alfie headed out the door of the bakery.

“Fuck it, I’m having lunch.”

He found Goliath holding Jacob up to pat a horse as his business partner, Seth, banged away at one hoof.

“Oi!” He swiped Jacob back. Jacob squealed his appreciation. “No ‘orses!”

“But they like him.”

“No ‘orses.”

“It’s just a little one.” And it was true; Goliath was taller than the horse. Maybe it was actually a pony? Fuck if Alfie knew.

“No. ‘orses. They’re fucking demons, mate. And how can it tell the difference between carrots and his little fingers? Answer me that.”

“Uh…” It has eyes, Abigail would have said, and no, absolutely no, he was not going into this level of missing her at barely noon on the very first day.

“Fucking unacceptable,” he said both to Goliath and himself, and then stomped off. A couple seconds later, he poked his head back in. “Well? I said lunch. Are you coming to the deli or not?”

After settling in with their soup and sandwiches, which fuck, could not be replicated at home no matter what he tried, Jacob began clambering over Goliath. Much like a horse ignored a fly other than through perhaps an additional flick of the tail, Goliath steadily chewed his sandwich though Jacob managed to climb up the back of his shirt and stick a finger in his ear.

“Leave your cousin alone, Jacob. Come eat your sandwich.” Jacob burbled rebelliously, but the food was enticing enough that he slid down and sat in Goliath’s lap.

“I’d tell you to eat so you can grow up to be big like your cousin, but honestly, I don’t think I could fucking handle that.”

Goliath grunted, eyes and attention still firmly grounded on one of three sandwiches he had piled onto the plate.

Jacob tugged at his dad’s beard, and passed him a piece of bread torn off from his sandwich.

Alfie accepted, and began to chew. From the window he could see Ollie’s lanky form walking urgently towards the restaurant. He grabbed the wax paper and wrapped his sandwich up and directed Goliath to do the same right before Ollie burst in.

“Phone, sir. It’s urgent.”

He passed Jacob to Goliath. “He’ll need a nap in an hour or so. Don’t let him sleep too long or I won’t be able to put him to bed and if that is the case I will raise the Devil himself and direct him to your front door.”  
He grabbed his sandwich and looked wistfully at his soup for just a moment before hurrying out of the restaurant.

“Ello?”

“Mr. Solomons. I’m Ms. Cohen from the school. It’s your daughter.”

“What happened? Is everyone alright?”

“I’m afraid she’s been in another fight. Normally we would just tell you at the end of the day, but Mr. Stevens is insisting-”

“I’ll be right there.”

He slammed down the phone with a vengance. Fuck Stevens and his fucking attitude. It had nothing to do with Esther and everything to do with him. Maybe a little to do with Esther, especially considering the gun incident this morning. And the problem last week with the boys. And the month before that when she’d punched one of the girls in the face outside of temple. Right. He pulled on his coat and got his cane.

“Going out Ollie!”

“You have a meeting at one w--”

“I’ll be back in time. If not, stall.”

Ollie looked after him with a lost look. Yeah, he knew Ollie wasn’t the best of liars, but the kid had to learn sometime, didn’t he? If he didn’t have such a mind for numbers, Alfie probably would have gently demoted him long ago. As it was, family talent was too young to be put to use just yet.

There was a teacher at the door of the school, one of the newer ones. You could tell her novelty not only by her age, but by the nervous way she was looking up and down the street.

“Mr. Solomons? I--”

“Yeah, right, all right,” he said, breezing by her and into the hallway. “I know where the office is, been there five hundred fucking times, innit.” He wrested open the door.

The scene was exactly as he expected: Mr. Stevens and principal were huddled together, talking, while Esther looked as haughty as her snub-nosed little face would allow. And he caught the exact look he expected, too, between the teacher and the principal: you were supposed to warn me when he got here/I wasn’t fast enough.

Good, good. So just another, regular--

“Mr. Solomons, I believe it is time to seriously consider relocating your daughter.”

He tried not to lose his temper, he really truly did. But that smug prick face was itching to be bloodied and since he couldn’t kill a man in front of his daughter--though if he did have to choose one it would definitely be Esther--he couldn’t help the cold rage he felt pouring through his body. He pulled out a chair, deliberately screeching it along the floor and propped his feet up against the desk, knocking aside a stack of papers.

“Well then. Has there been a problem with the cheque I sent at the start of term?”

“No, Mr. Solomons, however--”

“Or!” He held up a finger, letting the light play along the gold ring. “The donation for the new library I made just last week?”

Stevens glowered. “No, Mr. Solomons. However, as an institution-”

“Oh as an institution, right yeah. Fucking funny you’d say that innit?” At the word fucking the principal darted a concerned glance at Esther who looked unperturbed. “Since you’re a goyim and all. Speaking for a Jewish institution funded by Jews so their children can learn about their faith, hmm? What are you, Anglican? Fucking Methodist?”

Mr. Stevens’ mouth had flattened out into a thin line. “I don’t think that’s relevant. The point is, your daughter has exhibited behavior that we cannot condone.”

Alfie raised an eyebrow. “Ephram. Is this true?”

The principle, who’d bemusedly been watching this exchange finally made eye contact with Alfie.

“Alfie.” He spread his hands wide. “She can’t keep hurting people who disagree with her. Parents are complaining.”

Alfie nodded and leaned forward. “If she doesn’t do it again, can she stay?”

Ephram adjusted his yarmulke. “Esther. Do you understand how important it is that you don’t hit people?”

Esther nodded, and kept her head down as she fidgeted with the hem of her dress. It was dirty, which meant he had to figure out the laundry press and that, quite fucking frankly, terrified him more than the prospect of having to find another school for Esther.

Ephram leaned back. “Alright then. Alfie, I’m sure you understand how important it is for your daughter to lead a righteous life and will emphasize that at home. Esther, maybe you should take the afternoon to reflect on your actions, and when you come to school tomorrow, you’ll remember that, alright?”

Stevens looked apoplectic. “Sir!”

Ephram waved him off. “Good afternoon, Mr. Solomons, Esther.”

Esther got up, little lunch pail in hand (evidently having thought this all out well beforehand, which gave him more pride than it probably should have), and took his hand. They were just at the door when Stevens said, “I hear your wife is on holiday?”

Alfie pushed Esther behind him as he turned. “What the fuck does that have to do with any of it?”

“I’d like to speak with her when she returns.”

He looked at Ephram, who did not, through eye-telegraph, respond favorably: I don’t know where any of it’s coming from. I don’t know how to stop him. “That won’t be fucking possible.” His voice had dropped and his pulse was racing. He must not kill teachers. That was definitely some kind of a sin.

“Different parents communicate with their children differently. I find it’s the same with my wife and I. I have been told that once before, Mrs. Solomons was...able to persuasively communicate with your middle daughter about absences. Perhaps that would be a useful step forward.”

Very gently, Alfie nudged Esther out the door with his hip and closed the door behind him. He spoke quietly. “You’re new. That is not a fucking crime. There have no crimes committed just yet, eh? Whatever you may be thinking about me, or about my daughter, on these school grounds, everything has been absolutely peaceful. But I think you may find that if you speak of my wife again, the circumstances are open to some fucking. Change.”

He slammed the door behind him.

Outside, Esther was squatting, back against the wall, halfway through a cookie.

“Come on,” he said gruffly. “Let’s have a walk. You can tell me on the way.”

Esther, demonstrating remarkably good sense of self preservation, waited until they had left school grounds to start crying. At least with her, he knew she was being genuine, because she looked so frustrated with the fact she was crying. He clapped her on the back.  
“You’ll be alright. Ignore Stevens, yeah? I won’t let you get kicked out.”

“They’re being so mean, Dad. It’s not fair.”

“To you?” Alfie’s blood boiled over. He hadn’t thought he’d be alright beating a ten year old until this moment.

Esther sighed exasperatedly through her tears. “No, Dad. No one’s mean to me. To Rachel.”

Alfie sorted through names in his head until he connected it. “The Russian one, right?”

Esther nodded through her tears.

Alfie fell into a silence. “It’s alright. Here, you can spend the day with Jacob and Goliath, alright? Maybe you can pet a horse.”

Esther brightened.

“Can I ride one?”

Oh, now this was a battle royale that constantly resurfaced whenever Goliath was around. Or anyone who got near horses, really. This is why he lived in the city. “Let’s stick with petting, all right? It’s been a day.” Except the day wasn’t half over, was it? He still had to pick up Miriam, and get them all home, and cook dinner, and--oh. Also.

Meeting with Thomas Shelby, one o’clock.


	3. Tommy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> now you may say to yourself, "I recognize a couple of those lines of dialogue" and that's because Ashling cannibalized a small part of this scene for a totally different thing. It's legal. Shakespeare did it. If Shakespeare gets to cannibalize himself, I get to do it, that's just the rules.
> 
> Apologies for the unrestrained levels of unresolved sexual tension. Except we're not sorry, oops

He checked his pocket watch as they walked. 12:55. Shelby could wait. Esther couldn’t be sent home, not by herself, and the ceilings were too low for Goliath. Fuck. Fine. He’d send Goliath and the children away to the park or some shit. He’d let them ride as many horses as they wanted as long as it kept them well away from Tommy Shelby. It would be fine.

He strode into the bakery, tapping his cane with him. Esther stayed quiet by his side, but her eyes were wide. Fucking fortunately, most of the men were away for lunch. Ollie appeared looking harried. “Mr. Shelby is in your office.”

“Right, where’s Goliath?”  
“The courtyard with Jacob.”

He couldn’t kneel, not again, not with his fucking knee, so instead he fixed Esther with his strongest stare.

“Go with Ollie to find Goliath and Jacob and stay there, do you understand? I have a meeting.”

Esther nodded, solemn. Her eyes were darting around and he had a feeling she’d have some hard questions about bread and the lack thereof later. Later, he’d deal with it all later. He took a breath as a ward against those spooky fucking eyes and strode into his office.

As Alfie walked in, Tommy chucked an item over his shoulder, which Alfie caught. It was a little wooden toy horse, with a bit of cheese on the nose. Apparently Jacob had been trying to feed it.

“I take it I’m not the most important meeting you have today,” said Tommy.

“I wouldn’t call you fuckin’ important. Have you seen the polls?”

“Our people don’t talk.”

“You could’ve fooled me, mate. Or are you a shining exception?”

“I can take you off the guest list for the victory celebration, if you’d like to avoid the speeches.”

“Absolutely not. I’m getting my money’s worth with you.”

“I don’t recall any campaign contributions.”

Alfie made a noise between a snort and a snuffle. “Do you remember what happened just two months ago? When you pulled a gun on me? And I allowed your brains to stay in your fuckin ‘ead? That’s my campaign contribution. Pretty big one, innit.”

Tommy allowed him a half-smile, a dip of the eyes. But then hellos were done with, and it was to business. “Two of the Cortesi brothers got off yesterday.”

“I should fucking hope so. They visit brothels more than your aunt goes to confession. It has to work sometime.”

Tommy blinked in just such a way as to indicate that he was rolling his eyes behind the closed lids. “I’ve heard rumors the Finsbury Boys will have them back as partners.”

“Stands to reason. Italians that can’t shoot straight paired with the fucking boring, fucking annoying, fucking blandest of dull suits. They’re the fucking dream team, innit.”

“So is it going to be 1922 again?”

“Don’t be fuckin silly, mate, you can’t travel back in time.”

“You can tell that to the waiter at Il Forno. He saw you talking to Sabini.”

“You know me, Tommy. I’m a friendly fucking man. A real social butterfly.”

“Alfie. I don’t want to see another London racetrack war. I’ve never done business with the Cortesis. I’ve never been shot by any of the Cortesis. I’ve never even fucking met either of the ones that were in prison.”

“You know their names, mate.”

“I have no desire to know their names, Alfie.”

He’d opened his mouth to respond when the office door opened with a bang. Goliath came in, wild eyed holding a crying Jacob. Esther followed, also crying. Alfie stood, knocking his chair back.

“What the fuck happened.” Tommy was still seated, looking around quizzically. Alfie had muscled his way into sitting Jacob on the desk and was prodding gently at his bloodied knee.

“It’s alright. You’re alright.” Jacob wound his arms around Alfie’s neck and wailed. Alfie turned as much as he could and examined Esther critically. She looked like she’d thumped her knee as well and the blood had definitely stained her dress. Shit. He’d have to ask someone how to operate that fucking mangle. Mrs. Rosenthal?

Goliath looked genuinely panicked. “I’m so sorry. He ran out under her and they both just...fell. And I know you said not to be disturbed but they were bleeding and Jacob wouldn’t stop crying.”

“ ‘s fine. I can handle the rest, thanks.”

Jacob had quieted into a few sniffles while keeping his face buried in Alfie’s neck, and Esther had shied away behind him. Tommy looked at him with a perfectly straight face.

“Well.”

“He has a gun on him, Dad,” said Esther. “Right side, under the jacket. Under the arm.”

“Why do--yes. It’s all right. It’s all right.”

Tommy blinked and looked at her. She looked back. It gave him nothing quite as much as the impression that she was a young May. Given time and a certain amount of rage, possibly even a Polly in the making.

“Are you friends, then?” she pressed on, evidently quite aware that she was in Grownup Company, but Dad’s kind of company and not Mum’s, which meant: “Because he doesn’t look like a fuckin Jew.”

Alfie gave up entirely. “Ollie!”

“I’m just asking.”

“We are...business partners,” said Tommy, very careful to be grave, very careful not to even twitch in the direction of a smile.

“I’ve never seen him at the bakery.”

“He lives in Birmingham.”

“Unh.”

Little cosmopolitan! Or at least a London girl. When anyone else turned their nose up at--well, anywhere at all, really, it was repulsive. When he did it, it was enjoyable. When she did it, it was cute? Children were discoveries.

“It’s an acquired taste,” said Tommy.

“What’s that?”

“Something you don’t like at first, when you encounter it.” He glanced up at Alfie. “Or the second time, or the third time. Sometimes you think maybe you never will. And eventually, you do.”

“That sounds stupid,” said Esther decisively. “If it’s not any good the first time, it probably won’t be the second time. And there’s everything else to try instead.”

He gave a rare smile. “That is one view, yes.”

Alfie was perilously close to becoming a spectator to the conversation rather than a participant, so he was extremely pleased when Ollie finally showed up. “Took you long enough.” Ollie started to apologize, but Alfie just cut in: “Can you take him? Ask Mrs. Rosenthal down the street to fix it up, with my greatest thanks.” Jacob had been watching the entire conversation go down with eyes as big and round as silver dollars, and Alfie already couldn’t begin to imagine how the conversation was going to be translated into toddler-ese when this was all retold to Abigail in the inevitable debriefing a week hence.

That would be a problem for him in the future, he decided, passing Jacob off to Ollie. He sat back down in his chair, and Esther lingered behind him.

“Go with Ollie, Esther. Please.”

She boosted herself onto her tiptoes and whispered into Alfie’s ear “But Dad, he has a gun.”

“It’s alright. He’s only little, hm?”

Esther nodded, and then looked at Tommy fiercely. She limped out of the room in a way that tugged at Alfie’s heart. Ollie followed her out with Jacob clinging to his neck and shut the door behind him.

Tommy looked bemused and lit a cigarette.

“Heartwarming. I didn’t know the bakery was a family business.”

Alfie shrugged and spread his hands wide. He reached down into his drawer and pulled out a bottle of whiskey and two glasses. “I’ve had a fucking day, mate, I don’t mind telling you. Just ridiculous. You know how small those buttons are on their clothes? I couldn’t find them with a fucking magnifying glass.” He poured a healthy measure into both cups and slid one across the desk. “And then I had to go all the way to the school, deal with fucking bureaucrats who they do not let you shoot, by the way, and now I’m here. Where my fucking friend accuses me of being in bed with the fucking eye-ties. After all we’ve been through!”

Tommy took a sip.

“It’s good. Irish?”

Alfie looked at him and pointed. “Of course. I know what you Brummy boys like.”

Tommy drank again and nodded.

“Alright,” said Alfie, after a minute.

“Alright?”

“No wars.”

Tommy just watched him for a moment, those pale eyes gauging the truth of it.

“To no wars.” He offered his glass, and Alfie clinked it.

“Isn’t that just...fuckin’ peace?”

“No.”

They drank.

“Wouldn’t be any good at peace,” Alfie said half a glass later.

“No.”

Two glasses, Alfie decided. Was reasonable. There were children, whom he loved, and workers, who in his own rough way he almost loved, and the work, which he did not love, but which was there nonetheless. In the meantime he had a glass left of silence to savor.

He drank very slowly.

Tommy seemed to sense it, for just as they were a couple sips away from done, he said, “It will be the telephone next time.”

Alfie just drank.

“The election is next Thursday. After that, it will be the telephone. You can tell her that. Might help.”

“She wasn’t fucking frightened of you, mate.”

“I know.” He set down his empty glass. “It’s in the blood.” He stood and collected his cap and overcoat from the rack. “I won’t be back down here again. Not expanding to London, not hatching a plan, not coming to save you.”

“Not even for a friend.”

“Not even for a friend with Irish whiskey.”

Alfie watched him go. 


	4. Dinnertime

Alfie poured himself a little more rum and gulped it down. Paperwork. Right. Finish it quick so he can meet Miriam at school and get home to make dinner. Put Tommy Shelby far out of his mind. Within the hour, he’d shrugged his coat up over his shoulders and grabbed the walking stick again. Shoshanna’d be finishing work up by five. Should Ollie walk her home? No, she’d throw a fit. Poor Ollie was halfway in love with her, but she bristled whenever he came close.  
Mrs. Rosenthal was stirring something on the stove when he walked in but stopped to give him a hug.

“Shalom, shalom. Do you want anything to eat?”

“Oh you know I can’t turn down anything you make. Is Jacob alright?”

She nodded before passing him some hamentashen in a napkin. “He’s playing in the parlor with Esther. You should soak that dress of hers in cold water when you get home.

“Thank you, truly. You’re a blessing on this earth.”

She smiled and swatted at him. “When does Abigail come home? You know I don’t trust those boats.”

“A few days.”

“Well if you need anything, come knock on my door. It’s nice having children around again.”

He gathered them both up, Jacob insisting on walking on his own, and finally, blessedly, they walked home.

Shoshanna was already there. He remembered vaguely, fleetingly, something about lipstick but after an admittedly unsubtle squint at her face, he couldn’t find anything resembling makeup at all.

“Hi, Dad,” she said.

“‘Ello.” He gave her a kiss on the cheek, and Miriam a ruffle of the hair, and went to investigate the icebox and pantry. Which, fuck, was like some child’s puzzle or mystery story that he hadn’t the patience to sort out. “Shoshanna!” She seemed to almost materialize, a trick her mother had that often gave him the chills. He had hoped it wouldn’t be passed on, but then, there were many things he’d hoped for that he hadn’t gotten. “How does this become dinner?”

She shrugged. “Take the fish, wrap it in the green things, put it in a pan with oil, put it in the oven, crumble the stale bread into breadcrumbs, and sprinkle it on top of the raw beef. Then serve.”

He genuinely considered this for a second. “Shoshanna!”

But she was already gone again.

“Miriam?”

She, miraculously, came in the normal way, with audible footsteps and all. “Yes, Dad?”

“Could you please show me how the fuck to make this edible, please?” Her quiet ways were not the same as a guaranteed sweetness, but if you lived with her long enough you’d see brief glimpses of that sweetness, and somehow it all made him say pleases and thank yous along with his usual fucks and bloody hells. Children were discoveries.

“Um.” She tilted her head slightly when she was thinking, not all the time, not like a sham actress, but just--just like that, just now. She appeared to be considering a lump of fish very seriously.

He felt foolish for asking a fourteen-year-old. “It’s alright if you don’t know.”

“I might,” she said, thoughtfully. She closed the door to the icebox. “Can you come back in ten minutes?”

“Does a donkey like to shit?”

She just looked at him, perfectly without judgment, just an acknowledgement, perhaps, that he had said words. He loved her so much, this pale wise fairy child of his, but he also couldn’t help trying to be funny around her, wanted to be her friend so badly, and this is where it often put him.

“Yeah. Take all the time you need, mate.” He patted her on the head once, awkwardly, realized that she was past the age of head-patting, and limped away.

When he’d returned from checking on Jacob who was playing happily with some blocks, Miriam had managed to conjure up something that smelled delicious. She passed him the spatula.

“Can you please make sure it doesn’t burn? I have to do my homework.”

Cowed, he took it. Esther had been roped into chopping potatoes and was clumsily humming as she did.

“Do you have homework?”

Still humming, she managed to do a full body shrug that communicated how little she cared.

“You’re on thin ice, you know. Ask Miriam for help.”

She sighed, and passed him the knife, grabbing her satchel off of the kitchen table. Shoshanna breezed back in and pecked him on the cheek.

“Bye Dad, I’m going out.”

“No. After dinner.”

“But-”

“After. Dinner.”

He heard her leave this time because she stomped away, letting him know how angry she was. She’d live. Eventually, the potatoes were also in the pan, and he watched them simmer with some self satisfaction. Not entirely fucking helpless, eh? Miriam wandered back into the kitchen, looking ephemeral.

“The fish is burning.”

“Fuck.”

She’d left again.  
He’d set the table, lit the candle and put out bread. Esther, who’d been complaining about being hungry sat at the table instantly with Jacob pulled onto her lap. Shoshanna eventually, pouting, migrated to the table and sat, looking haughty. Miriam took the longest since she had to be coaxed out of her book. After saying the blessings, he took a bite and then grimaced.

“I’d put some salt on that if I were you.”

Miriam tried. Salt, pepper. At one point, Esther silently got up, went to the spice rack, and came back with three different jars, just experimenting coolly in front of him, which he wanted to object to but undoubtedly deserved. Shoshanna simply ate a lot of bread.

For the sake of making an example (and also because half a sandwich wasn’t a lunch), Alfie made a prodigious dent in the fish, eating one and a half fillets before he, too, fell back on bread and butter. The potatoes were a little too firm, but at least that could be remedied with perhaps some smashing and frying next morning. He was halfway through the dinner when Jacob made an unintelligible noise and he realized that the dinner was missing a key ingredient: conversation.

“So!”

Four little pairs of eyes looked at him expectantly, though ranging from Jacob to Shoshanna, it was clear that they expected wildly different things. He forged onward. “How was your day?”

Jacob had his mouth full; Esther thought the question was stupid, as he already knew; Miriam never liked to be the first to talk; and Shoshanna was still angry with him.

All right, he’d been in staredowns aplenty before. Not five-way staredowns, but it was still at least comfortable territory. He put a potato in his mouth, and looked, and chewed.

“My day was fine, thanks. Even though Esther nearly got booted out of school.”

“Oi!”

Miriam turned “Oh, Esther you didn’t.”

Shoshanna merely cackled.

“It’s David and Chester, they’re horrible.”

Miriam hmmed in agreement. “Their older brothers are awful. They knocked my books into the mud.”

Alfie’s jaw made an imperceptible motion under his beard. “What’s the last name?”

Shoshanna looked up with alarm. “Dad, no.”

“What? I wasn’t going to do nothin.”

“When I told you Sarah Katz made fun of my dress someone smashed her dad’s window.”

“Not me.” Alfie kept chewing. “How was your day, Shoshie?”

“Ugh, fine. Even though this show case came in and kept asking us to pass her smaller and smaller sizes. No one gives a shit that your waist is the size of a toothpick.”

Miriam’s head shot up. “Who were you eating lunch with?”

Shoshanna turned pink. “No-one.”

Miriam raised her eyebrow, which she’d been practicing in the mirror for a week. “Millie’s older sister saw you. She said it was a boy.”

“She also said that she was visiting her aunt’s French summer house last year, when she was only babysitting for her aunt in Liverpool.”

“Just because the source lied once doesn’t mean it’s useless forever,” said Alfie. “You have to corroborate.”

“What’s that?” said Esther.

“It means find out several different stories from different people and see if they are similar.”

“Oh.” Esther thought about this a moment, half a crust of bread in her mouth, and then hopped off her chair and disappeared into the kitchen.

He hoped that she was going for more spices. He was wrong.

Click click click, went the telephone. “Hello,” she said quite clearly. “I’d like to speak to Marta Wojnicki, please. Thank you.”

Shoshanna swore.

“Not at the fucking dinner table,” said Alfie. Which, in his defense, was a quasi-real family policy that had existed for some time.

“Why the fuck not?”

Exasperation drove him to honesty. “Because if your mother comes home and Jacob’s fucking swearing fucking here, fucking there, and fucking everywhere, your mother is going to have my fucking balls for a welcome home dinner!”

Jacob giggled.

“Right.”

He stalked into the kitchen. “Esther, the telephone’s not for gossip, it’s for emergencies.”

“It could be an emergency,” she said. “I haven’t found out who he is yet.”

Which was almost a fair point.

“Oh, hullo Marta. Did your sister see my sister eating lunch with some bloke?”  
Esther nodded.

“Right. No I didn’t get kicked out. I’ll be back tomorrow.”  
She nodded some more. “Alright. Bye.”

She stepped off the chair and hung the phone back up.

“Yeah, it was a boy.”

Alfie’s eyebrows raised.

“What was it your mum always says? Right, right, no fucking dating. Especially if we haven’t met him.”

Shoshanna grimaced. “I’m not dating anybody.”

Esther pointed at her neck. “What’s that then?”

Shoshanna slapped a hand to her neck. “I burned my neck by the fire.”

Miriam smirked into her dinner roll.

Alfie hadn’t considered how horrible teenage boys were until he’d had not one, not two, but three fucking daughters in a row. He felt like every remark, every leer, and every grope he’d ever made was emblazoned on his soul. Abbie had agreed to pretend it was her idea, but really, he’d flatten any prepubescent boy that crossed his threshold.

Esther howled with laughter. Jacob had mashed the potatoes and was shoving it into his curls.

“Oh, mate.”

There were some things he could deal with better than others. Potatoes were on his level. Potatoes were straightforward. He moved Jacob’s plate away and started to comb the stuff out with his fingers, then gave up. “Right. Bath for you, after this.” That was perhaps not the right thing to say, since Jacob loved baths, but at least it was accurate. He turned to Shoshanna. “We are talking about this after the little ones go to bed.”

“But you said I could go after dinner!”

“Circumstances have very much fucking changed, innit.” Esther started to laugh again. “Oi.” He pointed. “You may be having fun now, but when it’s your turn, they’re going to be well older, and you’re not going to enjoy that.”

“I will never marry anybody,” said Esther. “I want to live in a house by myself with two big dogs.”

“That’s…” Jacob had got hold of his plate and started to mash potatoes into his shirt. “Jacob, no!” Jacob squealed. When Alfie looked up, Shoshanna was gone. He made an executive decision. “Right!” He pointed at Miriam. “Lock the door behind me. Don’t try to give him his bath yet.” Then he darted out the door.

Even with his shit knee, he could beat a seventeen year old girl still wobbly in heels to the door.

“Shoshanna.”

Her chin wobbled. “Dad, I love him.”

His heart turned to mush for a moment and only a moment.

“Still. Un-fucking-ceptable. You’re not going anywhere tonight, and before you meet him again, you will bring him home and he’ll introduce himself like a proper gentleman, eh?”

She squared her jaw. “Fine.”

“And I will be checking your bed tonight. And you’re getting lunch wiv Ollie tomorrow.”

“Dad!”

“That’s fucking final. Now go give your brother a bath, I’ve got dishes and the others have homework.”

She stared back insolently. He could remember when she was just a baby and would smile and coo at him no matter what. Now she was as stubborn as him.

“Dinner tomorrow, then.”

“You’re cooking then, I don’t want to poison him.”

She stormed off in a huff, slamming the kitchen door open before beginning to boil water to fill the tub.

Miriam was bent over Esther, pointing to a section in her primer. At least those two weren’t sneaking away in the night. He thought.

Now was a very tricky time. Now was a time to be washing clothes. He set the potato-y shirt aside and settled for a much easier target, Jacob’s little trousers, while Jacob himself pranced about the bathroom eagerly watching Shoshanna fill it up. The bloodstains from Jacob’s poor little scraped knees were barely turned pink by the time that Alfie had to give it up and give Jacob his bath. This, at least, was peaceful; Jacob didn’t even get suds in his eyes, obediently lifted his arms to be scrubbed, and blew bubbles, generally behaving like a small angel. Alfie was just barely lulled into a temporary feeling of comfortable satisfaction when he heard a bit of a kerfuffle in the other room.

“That doesn’t make any sense!”

“Why not? You just have to take this and this and then divide them!”

“But why?”

“I just told you!”

Right, Miriam’s intellectual intuition and Esther’s stubbornness were not the most suitable pair, at least not in this situation. “Shoshanna!” No reply. Cursing up a storm, he darted outside and shouted again. “Shoshanna!”

“Calm down, Dad.” She was right behind him. “I just had to call him and let him know I couldn’t come.”

“Jesus!”

“Dad,” she said, as if she was talking to a very small child, “He’s not real.”

“I was--”

And she was gone again. Seconds later, he heard her cooing over Jacob

“Jesus fuck,” he said firmly, and went into the kitchen to break up the fight.

Shoshanna poked her head back out of the door.

“Dad!”

“What.”

She smiled sweetly. “No fucking yelling.”

Grumbling, he walked into the kitchen. Miriam was near tears and Esther was angrily scratching a hole in her notebook paper.

“Alright, give it here. What is this, long division? Well that’s easy, mate, here watch. You take the number here, yeah?” As he walked her through it, the tension drained from the room. Miriam returned to her book and the room was silent except for the turning of a page or the scratching of a pen against notebook paper.

Soon, Jacob was tucked in and snoozing blissfully, followed shortly by Esther who would sometimes still suck her thumb in her sleep. Miriam had to be told, firmly, to put her book down and go to bed, and the first time he’d checked, she’d smuggled a candle in and was squinting at her book anyway. Finally, Shoshanna had grumbled a good night at him and gone to bed. He waited an hour before double checking to see her curls sticking out from the quilt.

Finally, blessedly, he’d heaved himself onto the bed with a sigh of relief. One day down. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the whole thing is over 38,000 words long, so you'd better believe there's more chapters coming up. CHAPTERS ON CHAPTERS ON CHAPTERS


	5. odds and ends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alfie's almost getting good at this

He really had thought he’d sit in bed and allow himself a minute or so of wallowing in feeling bad, but almost the minute his head hit the pillow, he fell asleep, and next thing he knew, his alarm was going off, dawn had already come, and there was something cooking.

There was something cooking? He launched himself out the bed and stumbled into the kitchen in his pajamas, only to find Shoshanna innocently frying some eggs.

He slumped against the wall. “Fuckin’ ell.”

“No eggs for you until you change,” she said.

Well, she might have been buttering him up for dinner that night--probably was--but at least he didn’t have to cook that morning. He limped into the small children’s room and enjoyed a brief moment of peace before Esther shifted in bed and two books fell out from under her pillow, onto the floor, making a loud thump and frightening Jacob awake.

“Oh, come here, come here.” Although obviously any distress from any of his children was deeply bad, Alfie couldn’t help but also be pleased that he had an excuse to cuddle Jacob all soft and sleepy. During the day, the boy was so energetic he barely had time for a kiss on the top of his downy little head before he was zooming off to the next thing. When he looked up, Esther and the books were both gone, the water was going in the bathroom, and Miriam was looking over her choices of three dresses very thoughtfully. Or perhaps that was always how she looked, perhaps he overestimated--

“Do you think the cotton comes from India, Dad?” she said.

“Probably,” he said uneasily. No good could come from his international relations knowledge being tested, mainly because he didn’t have any knowledge about international relations.

“Don’t you think we should stop, then?”

Oh God. Oh God. It sounded an awful lot like this was going to become political. “I’m not sure, what do you think?” Neutral was safe, right?

“I do like them,” she said, “but I would not like to be like a Russian.”

Now he was completely lost. “Love, maybe you’d better talk about this with your mother? She’s the one that buys your dresses, after all.”

“That is true.” She picked one with little green flowers on it. “Anyways, this goes well with the bow I’m borrowing from Shoshanna.” She was already heading into Shoshanna’s room before it occurred to him to call out, “Borrowing or stealing?” But then Jacob was squirming out of his lap and into the enticing bathroom, and he had to launch himself back into the mayhem of the morning. If a little petty theft was committed along the way, at least they all made it to the breakfast table uninjured and dressed, and the food on the table was hot. Shoshanna, when she tried, was really quite good. Now that he thought about it, when Shoshanna tried, she was good at anything. She just didn’t like to try. Now there was a thought. How to--

“Dad, pass the pepper.”

Right, probably not the time to plan out long-term parenting strategies. Now was the time to make sure Jacob did not rub pepper in his hair.

He managed to hustle everyone out the door in a slightly shorter amount of time, which was still well over an hour.  
“Ollie will pick you up at work.” Shoshanna’s mouth flattened out and she walked towards her tram stop without a goodbye to anyone.  
He walked both girls to school and stared Stevens down in a way usually only seen by men he was about to shoot.

“Have a good day, Miriam. Walk your sister home at three, alright? Esther. No fucking fighting.”

Miriam nodded, Esther scuffed her shoe along the ground.

He walked to work, handed Jacob off to Goliath once again, and settled in at his desk. When Ollie came in with a stack of paperwork, Alfie waited until he’d almost left the room before  
“Ollie!”

“Yeah Mr. Solomons?”

“Take Shoshanna out to lunch, alright?”

Ollie nodded, looking both incredibly excited and faintly sick. Alfie imagined he’d looked the same way the first time he’d taken Abigail to the pub. Though if Ollie tried the same things he’d ended up trying on that first excursion, he’d cut his balls off and stuff them in his mouth.

The morning passed in blissful silence, no Tommy Shelby, no phone calls from the school, no bleeding toddlers. Lunchtime came, and Ollie left, with the countenance of someone about to go over the top. He ate at his desk, sorting paperwork and making some angry telephone calls where he could bluster down the line while keeping his feet propped up, and overall having a pleasant fucking time, when Ollie came back. Shockingly, he was still intact, and Shoshanna had a her arm threaded through his crooked elbow. That seemed to go well but-. Oh, fuck. He threw open his office door.

“Shoshanna. What in the everloving fuck happened to your hair?”

She ruffled the edges of her hair, which instead of coming past her waist ended bluntly at her cheeks.

“I like it.”

Alfie pressed the heels of his hands into his eyelids. “Your mum is going to fucking murder me.”

“It’s not her hair, why would she care?”

He gaped. “Because it’s--you look like you’re going off to a jazz club next!”

“That does sound fun. Ollie, what are you doing tonight?”

Now if there was one thing that was not happening that day, it was Alfie Fucking Solomons losing authority over fucking Ollie due to a teenage girl and a haircut. When he turned on Ollie, he looked like he could cut diamonds with his eyes.

“Not sure,” Ollie managed to say. And then, not immediately having suffered death, he added, “I’ll let you know.”

“You certainly will fucking not. She will be having dinner at home. With me. And. Her pre-existing fucking boyfriend.” Something occurred to him. “Is he--” No, not a question he wanted an answer to in the hallway to his office, where anybody could hear. Just. “Shoshanna, it’s back to work for you. I will not forget about the hair. Ollie, walk her there.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And wipe that fucking smile off your face, eh?”

“Yes, sir.”

Muttering a stream of curses he returned to his desk. He was grateful today was mainly logistical, since if he’d had to shout at anyone he’d probably end up shooting them and without Abigail to do the laundry he’d have to throw away this shirt. And he liked his shirt. After scribbling down columns of numbers and getting to yell at some more people via the telephone where his shirt would definitely not get stained, it was finally three o’clock. Goliath, looking more exhausted than after he’d gone ten rounds, deposited a smiling Jacob at his office door.

“Don’t forget about the fight Friday.”

Goliath grunted something in response and left. Alfie put away the fucking ledger and turned to embrace Jacob, who was babbling something about boats and horses. Maybe the horse was on a boat, or vice versa.

“Right. Should we see if Esther killed anyone today?”

Jacob nodded vigorously.

“It’s better not to kill people, you know that, right?”

Jacob nodded again, then stretched out his little arm to its full length and attempted to swipe a rather spiky ornament off of Alfie’s shelf.

“No, no, leave it alone.” As he walked out of the bakery, Alfie felt the eyes of the working men on them, and even caught one of them giving Jacob a little wave. Jacob waved back, like a tiny prince. Oh dear. Oh fucking dear. It had only been two days of this, and Jacob had charmed a whole host of killers, who Alfie would have preferred uncharmed. Four more days and they’d likely swear fealty to the new king. He remembered, wistfully, Shoshanna’s early years. She’d only ever stayed inside, really, at their house with friends, or others’ houses, or was doing something with the Temple ladies...come to think of it, her current status as something of a class queen herself was probably at least partially attributable to his paranoia...if she’d been allowed to play in the street, say with a ball, would she have gathered enough of a social network to temporarily oust Rabbi Kramnik? He was unsure whether to be satisfied or frightened by this.

“Jacob?”

“Yus.”

“When you’re older, what do you think you’re going to be?”

“A steam engine.”

Alfie decided to stick stubbornly to the original point, and disregard that particular response. “But you won’t sneak out with any girls.” He considered this yet again. “Or anybody. You’ll stay in bed when it’s night, like a--a perfectly normal young man?” All right, this was not only unconvincing to any impartial observer, but it was unconvincing to him. If staying in bed was indeed the normal practice, then he had had a decidedly abnormal youth. Rabidly abnormal.

Thankfully, Jacob was yet again distracted by a woman in a large hat, and did not have anything to say about the matter.

“Just please be fucking good,” Alfie muttered, and then: “Fuck.” Because even that was inaccurate. Probably a perfectly good young man would not want to associate with Alfie, when it came down to it, even for family dinners.

But before he could allow his post-work haze to really plunge him into the angst of a full-on parental meltdown, he had reached the school. A corollary benefit of walking faster when he was agitated.

More aware than usual of the eyes on them, he ventured into the hallways, towards Esther’s class, hoping that for just this next handful of days he could have a fucking normal pickup.

A gaggle of little boys, noses screwed up, formed a circle around a harried looking girl, who was picking up her books. Like an avenging angel, Esther stormed out of the classroom looking vicious.

“Which one of you did this?”

A few of the boys shrunk back, but one of them stepped forward.

“None of us did nothing. She tripped.”

Esther flushed. “That’s a lie, David Abrams.” She stepped forward and dropped her satchel and Alfie remembered how very much he did not want to find a new school for his fierce daughter.

“Esther. Time to go.”

Grimacing, Esther picked her bag back up and flung her skinny arms around the other girl, who by now had picked her books up. “G’bye Rachel. Can you bring your doll tomorrow?”

Rachel smiled brilliantly and nodded.

“Da, comrade.” sneered one of the boys, and Esther pounced. Or tried to. Alfie grabbed her by the collar.

“Time to go, now. But you shouldn’t pick on little girls, right mate? Or else one day their dads might get angry and I don’t think you’d like that very much.”

Cowed, the boys scattered.

“Alright, where’s Miriam?”  
“The library.” Esther pointed.

“Didn’t think you lot had a library.”

“We didn’t, but she wanted one.”

That sounded ominous. “Where did the books come from?”

“Oh, she took all the books from all the classrooms and tried to put them in Mr. Smith’s, but he said there wasn’t enough room, so then she begged the janitors to put all their brooms and coats and things into one closet and she tried to turn the other closet into a library, but then the teachers thought that was hoarding and it was difficult to get into, so then she split them into fiction and nonfiction. Library West is in Mr. Smith’s class, and it’s nonfiction. Library East is in Ms. Boyle’s class, and it’s fiction.”

“We’re going to Library East, right?” he said.

“No. Dad, Woodsbourne is a north-south street,” she said, as if that explained the entire thing. The school, in his defense, was like a maze. How was he to know which direction he was headed in?

In any case, he found himself lurking awkwardly in the back corner of Smith’s classroom, splitting his attention between not looking threatening towards the teacher (also known as subduing every natural instinct in his body) and trying to figure out what Miriam was doing. She was sorting the books, but not in any natural way he could tell. Not by size, or color. She did glance at the author’s names, but then he saw her put a book by Amadeus next to a book by Listor next to a book by Crest. He couldn’t exactly ask in front of Smith, could he. Eventually, after a few minutes, he said: “Come along, Miriam, it’ll be supper soon.”

“This will only take a minute.”

And amazingly, it nearly did. It took a few minutes, but she soon had the shelf alphabetically sorted. Then she got up, fetched her lunch pail, and held his hand on the way home like she did when she was little. He had no idea why, but it pleased him enormously. Perhaps she was just in a good mood.

Esther clung to Jacob’s hand and together they formed an unwieldy line ducking and darting through the busy streets of Camden.

“Alright. Do your homework. Esther if you need help, I’ll be in the kitchen.” He settled in with the morning paper, which he hadn’t gotten a chance to read because of the fucking tiny buttons and the general Solomons chaos. He brewed a cup of tea and settled into the kitchen chair, enjoying the relative peace. Within half an hour, he heard heels tapping at down the hallway and Shoshanna breezing through the door. After a brief kiss on the cheek, she bustled around the kitchen making a variety of efficient sounds with knives and drawers and wrappers. He stayed seated as somehow a delicious meal was created around him. Alfie rose, and making his way around the pots and dishes around the countertops, pulled down a bowl, flour, honey, and eggs. In comfortable silence, he kneaded the bread as Shoshanna poked something in the oven. He braided the bread in swift, practiced motions, and placed it alongside the roast. For a moment he forgot the coppers on the take, Shoshanna’s missing hair, and Tommy Shelby’s frozen eyes. It was just him and his daughter, working together in a kitchen redolent with homey smells. Miriam and Esther, when he checked, were quietly working together over the dining room table, and Jacob dragged a toy horse back and forth, narrating his actions as he did. Shoshanna disappeared into the bedroom and came back, straightened up and looking slightly nicer, though as much as he squinted he couldn’t tell if she was wearing make-up. She kept getting up in a flutter to check on the potatoes or the greens in ways that demonstrated how frayed her nerves were. He wanted to say something reassuring, but wasn’t sure what he could say for one, and for another, he was still angry about her attempted flight yesterday. Finally, the table was set and there were three distinct knocks at the door. 


	6. In Which Shoshanna's Boyfriend Comes To Dinner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I just love this family so so much

Shoshanna made a dash for it, but Alfie was closer and, without the long skirts, still quicker. He yanked open the door.

“You don’t look very fucking Jewish,” he said.

“I didn’t realize there was a dress code,” said the boy. He looked about eighteen, tall, with extremely neat blonde hair and a navy suit. “And had I tried to look Jewish, I imagine that would have gone off even worse.”

Shoshanna pushed by her father. “Nick!”

His eyes lit up. “Hi.”

“Are these for me?” She took the bouquet and inhaled deeply. “They’re gorgeous.”

“They’re for Jacob, actually, but I guess I can give him this instead.” He produced a little wooden figurine from his pocket, a horse and a man made of two woods, but cunningly interlocked.

“You shouldn’t have.”

“Well, it’s too late now.”

Alfie had, up until that point, been mesmerized and terrified by his daughter’s apparent enjoyment of this human boy, which was novel. (Following a humiliating crush on someone that Miriam had code-named Eli but whom he had never been able to track down, she went through a period where she had avoided them, and thus he’d also been spared.) He was equally mesmerized and terrified by this boy’s easy and intelligent demeanor. Easy would have been easily dealt with--it would have just meant the boy was too stupid to know what a dire situation he was in. Wary and intelligent would have meant Alfie would have a night of mind games ahead of him, which was, of course, his fucking specialty. But easy and intelligent together meant that the boy knew exactly where he was and felt pretty sure that Shoshanna could well enough protect him. Which meant that Alfie was, in so many words, fucked.

“Come the fuck inside,” he rumbled. “I notice you didn’t bring me anything.”

As Nick passed, he produced a bottle from his bag and handed it over. “Shoshanna said you might find this a tricky dinner. Perhaps this will help.” He wandered into the kitchen. “Smells delightful.” And then Shoshanna was off after him and Alfie was left goggling at the whiskey.

Esther strode forward and visibly assessed Nick, who solemnly endured her scrutiny before passing her a small pocket knife. After apparently deeming it an acceptable tribute, she palmed it and hid it in some obscure pocket.

“What do you do? Why are you courting Shoshanna? Are you Jewish?”

Nick blinked and Miriam stepped forward.

“Esther, leave him alone. I’m Miriam, it’s lovely to meet you.”

“Hello, Miriam.” He passed her a thick book. “Shoshanna said you didn’t have this one. I work in a bank, I think she’s wonderful, and Anglican.”

Esther’s eyebrows jumped at ‘Anglican’ but was apparently temporarily sated.  
Shoshanna emerged from the kitchen.

“Esther, Miriam, can you help me with the roast?” The girls disappeared into the kitchen and left Alfie staring down this fucking Anglican banker, who, admittedly, had excellent taste in whiskey.

“So. Mate. How’d you meet our Shoshanna?”

He was sitting ramrod straight, but somehow still looked relaxed. That was some fucking rich boy trick that they must teach at boarding school or some shit.

“I went to the shop to buy a birthday present for my mother. She helped me pick it out and we spoke for a while before I asked her to accompany me for lunch. We’ve been eating together for a few weeks now, and she asked that I meet her family and now” he smiled, open and easy “I’m here.”

Alfie harumphed. “And what did you get her?”  
“Pardon?”

“Your mum. What did Shoshie help you buy?”

“Oh, a brooch.”

Alfie stroked at his beard. Esther shuffled out to the living room.

“Shoshana says dinner’s getting cold and you should stop interrogating her suitor.”

Alfie stood, mentally swearing at his knee. Nick sprung up, looking annoyingly unflustered. Esther lingered to stand by her father.

“Dad” she whispered “What does interrogated mean?”

“It means asking perfectly reasonable questions,” Alfie growled in a way that made the word’s true meaning apparent.

“Can I interrogate him?”

He looked at her. He hadn’t, until now, considered the possibility of using allies at this dinner, but who better than Esther? “That’s a very good idea,” he said judiciously.

“Okay.” She gave him a smug little smile and bounced off to dinner.

As they all sat down to dinner, the little girls seemed committed to a strategy of observation, and Alfie couldn’t tell if that was permanent or temporary. Jacob, in the meantime, was completely taken with his horse and boy, and made periodic, ungrammatical asides to Nick about it. Nick took everything in stride.

“The roast’s amazing,” he said.

“Thanks.” Now that he was here, and nobody had died, Shoshanna was her usual self, bright and smooth and utterly self-assured. Alfie grudgingly admitted to himself that he should have seen this coming. She was, without favoritism, the best and most eligible girl in London, he thought. And the smartest, Miriam aside.

“It’s cows,” Jacob explained wisely, riding the horse around the rim of his plate.

“Is it?” said Nick.

“Anna dog.”

“Like a farmer, then,” he observed.

“Yeah.”

Alfie raised an eyebrow at Esther as if to say: your turn, your turn. Much to his dissatisfaction, he couldn’t figure out Nick’s weak points just yet, and he knew that throwing the average human man into conversation with Esther was not unlike throwing tissue paper to a toddler with scissors.

Esther took the hint. “So why aren’t you marrying her?” she asked. The effect of this impressive question was somewhat lessened by the piece of potato she still had in her mouth.

“We’re young yet,” said Nick, amused.

“And you might meet someone better?”

This was going better than he could have hoped, thought Alfie, but also, it was terrifying.

“No,” said Nick, “It’s just better not to make life-changing decisions too quickly.”

“So then you will marry her. But first you’ll wait, because you like to wait before you do anything important.”

“I would tell you that, if I could see the future.”

Esther frowned. Clearly this slippery answer didn’t suit. “Do you want to marry her or not?”

Nick put down his knife, then he put down his fork. Forearms on the table, he leaned forward and made full-on eye contact with Esther, a feat which even Alfie found somewhat difficult. “Esther, your sister is the only girl I’ve ever fallen in love with. And as far as I can tell, it’s a permanent condition. So that would have to be a resounding yes.”

“Hm.” Esther gave him one last look, then resumed munching on her potato.

Alfie was aghast. First of all, how could Esther be satisfied so easily? Second of all, how could Nick use talking to a little sister as a method to flirt? Because Shoshanna was smiling a tiny smile behind the bouquet that she’d set on the table, anyone could see that. And third of all, how dare Nick be so perfectly fine with it all? When Alfie had been at that age, and in the endless process of plummeting at the speed of sound for Abigail, he at least had had the grace to be fucking tormented about it to the point where he’d only ventured an actual vocalization of his affections a good year into seeing her. How dare Nick have something so dangerous and so powerful and be so unafraid? What absolute bullshit was this?

He must be lying, Alfie decided. Or this must be some kind of plot. Because it was all going far, far too well, and far too unrealistically. He cleared his throat.

“In love, hmm?” He turned to Shoshanna and gave her his most aggressive stare. Well not his most aggressive, since she was still his firstborn, but still very aggressive. “Are you pregnant?”

Shoshanna narrowed her eyes at him before laughing loudly.

“Oh Dad, don’t be silly. Nick and I care for each other deeply, and I wanted to introduce him to my loving family.”

Even though she attempted to act as light and unbothered as possible, her iron grip on the knife betrayed her.

“‘Ow long has this been going on again? A month?”

Shoshanna smiled.

“A month and a half.”

Miriam, in an attempt to avoid confrontation was shoveling potatoes into her mouth and keeping her eyes firmly on the plate. Esther’s eyes were wide and bouncing from person to person like she was watching a tennis match. Jacob was trying to build a stable out of roast beef for his horse/dog.

Alfie sniffed. “And what are your parents like, Nick? Aside from receiving brooches for birthdays.”

Nick smiled again. Fuck that smile. He should be in tears. “My father works for the same bank as I do. He’s the financial director. My mother is very active in her gardening society. They both live outside of London on an estate and would love to meet Shoshanna. And her family of course.”

“Same bank, eh? No wonder you got the position, eh?”

Shoshanna jumped in. “Actually, Daddy, Nick’s going to university, and they apprentice people out to the banks. It’s just a coincidence it’s the same one.”

Nick laughed “And he certainly doesn’t take it easy on me.”

Alfie tried to smile but it came out a sneer.

“Well. He did come in and thoroughly embarrass me on my first day. But I think that would be fairly considered a handicap, if anything. It took me a good three weeks to convince my supervisor that I actually knew actuarial maths.” He laughed.

Now Miriam had put pause on the potatoes, and was clearly thinking of how to turn the conversation back to maths. But a naturally flowing conversation wasn’t her strong point, and Nick had moved on anyway.

“If all goes to plan,” he was saying, “I won’t be there for too long. After university, I’ll find a new posting. If only to escape his harangues about Labour politicians in the morning, driving to work, after he’s whipped himself up into a frenzy over the morning newspaper.”

He wasn’t even trying to avoid politics! Alfie felt himself to be insulted. But before he could muster another attack, this time perhaps on the nature of the aristocracy and how utterly boring, how expected it was that Nick’s father should be a fucking Conservative, Nick went on.

“Shoshanna tells me your wife’s away for a wedding? That’s too bad, I was hoping to meet her.”

Oh, believe me, thought Alfie. I wish she was here too. She’d size you up good and fucking proper. There was just something so off about it all, and it was driving him wild. “I’m sure she’d like to meet you too.”

“Another time, perhaps.”

“That’s assuming that you come back,” put in Shoshanna, but far more playfully than Alfie would have liked.

“I suppose it is,” Nick said.

It was too much for Alfie. “Well, that’s very fucking presumptuous of you, innit?”

Every eye turned to him, and by some magic, it was Miriam who spoke first. “I thought you said no swearing at the dinner table.”

“Sorry, mate. Miriam. Sorry.”

Jacob looked up from his structure. “Fuck!”

Miriam and Shoshanna looked shocked, but Esther tipped her head back and roared with laughter.

“Jacob! That is very very rude!” Shoshanna admonished, sneaking glances at Nick to gauge his reaction.  
“Fuck!”

Trying to choke back his own laughter, Alfie stood.

“Alright, young man. Off to bed.”

Jacob smiled wide again. “Fuck!”

He pinched the bridge of his nose and looked down to disguise his shaking shoulders. Miriam had started to giggle but Shoshanna was obviously mortified. Still laughing, Esther scooped Jacob up and marched him back towards the bedrooms. Exiting the dining room with one final explicative, Jacob waved bye-bye with his new toys still firmly clutched in one potato-y hand.

Alfie wiped tears away with a napkin.

“Welcome to the Solomons’,” muttered Shoshanna.

“You don’t have to apologize,” said Nick. He had been grinning widely through the whole thing, but had, with Herculean effort, prevented outright laughter. “I think this has been the best dinner I’ve ever been to. It certainly outshines every dinner I’ve had with my family.”

Shoshanna was looking at him in a way that made Alfie ache. He remembered this, from her mother: behind all that judgment, the tiny seed of doubt was heartbreaking.

“Come on,” Nick murmured. “It’s better than f--better than “effing” radishes.”

“Jesus.” She broke into a crooked smile.

“I thought we all agreed he wasn’t real,” said Alfie. But it wasn’t a growl.

“We did,” said Shoshanna, not looking away.

It occurred to Alfie that the main problem with all this was that he did not, in fact, hate the boy. And he very much wanted to.

“Well,” said Shoshanna, after a second. “I suppose you ought to be going.”

This was obviously news to everyone at the table, but Nick snapped into it immediately. “You’re right. Look at the time.”

“I’ll walk you out.”

“He’s not--he doesn’t need your protection,” objected Alfie.

“He might.”

“What about the dishes?”

“I’ve got them,” said Miriam. Now that was a betrayal he hadn’t expected.

“I’ll just walk him out of Camden Town. Be back in twenty,” Shoshanna said, and then she’d dragged Nick out the door before he could get another word in.

“So,” she said, once outside. They were walking incredibly slowly, and she could feel the eyes on her from every house on the street, but she didn’t walk any faster. Twenty could stretch to thirty, if she really tried.

“Did I do all right?”

“Almost too well.”

“I did get that sense. But then, I committed to it. I’m not particularly good at changing plans while in motion.”

“It was good. You were good.”

She was a little shyer than usual, and he decided the best way to go about this was to ignore that. “Don’t look now, but I think a woman just pointed at me from the third-story window in the building to our right.”

“That would be Mrs. Rosenthal.”

“I want to wave hello.”

“She’s very kind, but she also thinks that all gonorrhea is caused by premarital sex.”

“So I shouldn’t wave, then.”

“No.”

“Shouldn’t hold your hand, either. As sweethearts normally would.”

She stopped smiling. Oh dear, he’d been able to get away with it for so long, but that dinner had been too much like a dream, and he’d let it slip. Now he was screwed.

“Nick…”

“I’m just joking. I wouldn’t do that to--to whoever-he-is.”

She chose the appropriate man for the situation in her head. “He’s not like that. He certainly doesn’t own me. I doubt he thinks of me much, when he’s not in London.”

“Not the brightest, then.”

“Very bright. Just, also, very free.”

“And you?”

“Also very free.”

He began to sweat. It was all very well to be smiles and bouquets when he knew for certain she was beyond reach, but now. Oh dear.

She took his hand.

“I-”

She smiled sunnily. “You?”

“Wouldn’t want to offend Mrs. Rosenthal’s sensibilities.” Or her father’s.

Shoshanna glanced behind her. “I suppose she is still watching, isn’t she?”

Up on the second floor, a lace curtain jerked back into place.

She grinned in a way that made him feel like he was bareback on a horse, riding at a full gallop, and in one fell swoop his hand was pulled to her waist and she was up up up on tiptoes planting a kiss full on his mouth.

He stood stock still as she descended.

“If you take a left, you’ll be able to get a taxi.”

He nodded woodenly, then extended his hand. She looked quizzically at him, and a moment later he shook himself. “Of course. Thank you for having me.” He held her, small and warm, for a minute before she disengaged and after a single coy look back to him, she walked away.

Back at the house, Miriam had, unsurprisingly, set up a hugely efficient system for washing dishes and was scrubbing her last pot as Shoshanna walked in. “Dad’s in the living room.”

“Is that my ribbon?”

“Your lipstick’s smudged.”

Shoshanna acquiesed and walked to the living room, rubbing at her lower lip fiercely. He was in there, pretending to be distracted by a book. She stood at the door and turned her hands out.

“So?”

“Good lad, good lad, hmm?” He scratched at his beard.

“What no..jokes about the bishop or banking or Jacob?”

Alfie raised his eyebrows. “Not unless you’ve got any.”

She puffed out an exasperated sigh. “My hair?”

“Looks real lovely, mate, yeah.”

“Alright. I’m going to bed, then.”

“Goodnight.”

She’d turned and was half out the door when he cleared his throat.

“Just one question, hey. Where’d you meet him?”

She froze. “I said. At the shop.”

He snapped the book shut. “No, don’t think so mate. Really, where? Hmm?”

She turned back around. “What gave it away?”

“No brooches at the shop, no. If he’d said a corset, I’d’ve believed him, but who buys a corset for their mum, eh? Who is he?”

She looked him up and down once, then stalked over to the armchair opposite him and sat down, slowly, deliberately. She crossed her legs. “You needed to meet a boyfriend. I let you meet a boyfriend.”

“A boyfriend, eh? Or a friend that’s a boy? I mean, you picked the right one, obviously. It is a bit hard to tell what’s going on, I’ll give you that. You nearly fuckin’ had me, with his starry eyes and all.” He was impressed, really. She hadn’t looked away, or tried to, even once. He tried a different tack, a softer tone. “Shoshie, what the hell is going on?”

She tilted her head, slightly, to indicate that she was thinking on her reply. He allowed for it. They were falling into a cadence he recognized from other conversations, not with children, but with adults. This was the point at which someone--Tommy, say--would be sipping a whiskey to buy time. She was growing up, and for this one moment, he didn’t exactly hate it. He let the silence breathe.

“Dad, do you remember when we stayed up almost all night, after I made the cocoa wrong?”

He smiled at the memory. “You won’t make that mistake soon again, will you.”

“I thought that was how it was supposed to taste, because it came from America.”

“Maybe I should have let you drink coffee younger.”

“You should have let me do everything younger.”

He let it pass. “I remember when we stayed up talking, yeah.”

“Good, me too. I remember a lot of stories, but the one I’m thinking of now is the story of how you grew up. How you joined the Camden Boys, and how you went to prison, that first time. You said you had so much trouble with the Schwartzes when they came to visit you, because they didn’t want to understand. Right?”

“Right, yeah,” said Alfie, quietly.

“Because they wanted to believe that you had gotten in too deep with the wrong people. That you were a good boy, with a sad past, and you needed a little saving. ‘Wrong story,’ right?”

“‘I am not a tragedy, I’m the fucking hero.’ Yeah.” God, had he really told her that story? He had, hadn’t he. This is why he shouldn’t tell people things.

“‘You just don’t see it because you don’t see the monster yet.’”

“Yeah, alright.” He swallowed. “So who’s the monster?”

“There is no monster. I just wanted you to know. I’m making choices. I’m not falling into anything, I’m not being seduced by anyone, I’m not being tricked. I am not a tragedy.”

“I never thought you were.”

“Good. So don’t try to save me.”

“That’s what dads do. I can’t fucking well help it.”

“I’m going to bed now.”

“Shoshie, this is not over.”

“That night, you said to me, ‘Because you’re sixteen, you deserve to know some things. Because you’re my daughter, you deserve to know some things. But because I am a man, there are some things you’ll never know.’ Well. I’m a woman, now, almost. And there are some things you’ll never know.”

“I was saying that about--about something very fucking bad. That you wouldn’t understand.”

She got up from her chair and walked over to him. “Well, this is just a boy. And it’s not bad at all. So don’t worry, I’ve got it handled.” Leaning down, she gave him a kiss on the cheek. “Stop trying to contain me. Goodnight.”

“Oi! You know I can’t do that,” he called over his shoulder.

“I know.” Her voice receded still. “But you can’t say I didn’t warn you.”

He sat there a while longer, turning the book over and over in his hands, then he went to the kitchen.

“Hello? Yeah, I’d like to call Simcha Glick in New York City. Thank you. Hey! Hi, yeah. Yeah, hello. Hello. Are you there? No, it’s the line. Yes.” There was a long silence, and then he rested his forehead against the wall. “Well, when she arrives, tell her to call me. No! No, the girls are fine. Absolutely fine. Just a--a bit of business. Thank you. And you, and you. Be well. Alright. Goodnight, now. Goodnight.”

Having done all he could, he checked in on the sleeping little ones and went to bed.


	7. assess the damage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning: a) sad b) blood

When he woke, the light was wrong and his heart was beating out of his chest. Fuck. Over a decade down the road and he still couldn’t shake these fucking memories. Sometimes he wished he was a half step closer to being old, and he could let the war fade into a cloudy twilight and eat soup all day and read the paper. However, his mind was still sharp enough to know that he’d never be able to go back to sleep, so he stood and stretched and noticed that particular throb in his knee that meant rain and shuffled off to the kitchen.

After a cup of tea he felt closer to human and began the mind numbingly familiar process of baking scones, sifting flour and pouring freshly delivered cream and lighting the oven. Dawn had just started to break when he took them out of the oven, and he promptly nearly dropped them when he turned to find a bedraggled three year old.

“Fuck, mate, where’d you come from?”

“Hadda bad dream.” And sure enough there were tear tracks down his face. He bundled him up into his arms, after placing the scones securely on the counter, and rocked him back and forth like he had when he was just a baby.

“S all fine. I’ve got you.”

Jacob murmured something about a monster, but after a few more gentle motions, he was sound asleep in his arms. He slowly slowly tucked him back in with his teddy bear as a guard against any more monsters, and he watched his son sleep for a few more moments. The girls were all still asleep, Shoshanna’s hair twisted up with rags in some obscure beauty ritual she’d tried to explain at least six times but he still wasn’t clear on. Miriam was snoring softly, Esther was snoring loudly in a way that could definitely be traced directly back to him. They were all fine. It was fucking fine. He went back to the kitchen and made another cup of tea and began planning out his day.

He had only gotten as far as figuring out that he could probably cheat and pick up a tub of soup from the deli for dinner (with his own bread, of course), but he’d gotten nowhere on any of the important points, namely: what to do about Esther getting kicked out (as seemed almost inevitable; getting her to avoid fights, especially just fights, was as impossible as stopping a tornado); what to do about Nick being in love with his daughter (since obviously, he was, and even more obviously, they weren’t together and Alfie had no desire for anyone to have romantic complications within a fifteen-mile radius of his house); what to do about Shoshanna having another boy who was either too incompetent, too proud, or too wrong to show up to dinner (thus forcing them all into the Nick Dinner of 1926); and last, and least, what to do about the resurgence of the Cortesi crime family, and how he’d very much like to use them as a club with which to batter the Sabinis, but of course would prefer not to die himself in the process.

He’d figured out to buy soup that afternoon, and that was it. Then the telephone rang.

“Yeah?”

“Did you call Uncle Simcha at an ungodly hour last night, demanding to talk to me? Because you know the ship takes longer than that, and the poor man gets all of three hours a night.”

“I. I may have, yeah.”

“You.”

“Yeah, I know. Me.” He smiled. “Did you get everything all right? The wedding still on? She hasn’t eloped with a local banker?”

“What? No. A banker? Where did that come from?”

“Just me. So you’re all right, then.”

“Yes, I’m all right. Did you remember to send the mayor flowers?”

“Wot?”

“Anniversary of his wife’s death, we’re trying to be nice about it.”

“You never told me about any fucking flowers.”

“Don’t get spicy with me, Alfie Solomons. I put it on the list.”

“Oh, yeah. Yeah. I may have lost the list.”

“How? I put it on a table. Did you lose the table too?”

“Not lost, exactly. Esther...ate it.”

She laughed. “I miss her. I miss you.”

The girls were up now, bustling around, sniffing at the scones and not-so-subtly eavesdropping. He shifted his weight, cleared his throat, harrumphed. “Ah. I missed you too. Here.” Beckoning Jacob over, he lifted Jacob up to the phone and let him babble away.

After a few minutes in which the horsie Goliath had let him pet earlier featured heavily, Jacob said goodbye. Well, not formally. He really just dropped the phone onto and squirmed out of Alfie’s arms to go investigate the scones, and Miriam swooped in and snagged the phone before Esther did.

“Hello, Mum. I’m alright but Esther-” she made eye contact with Alfie who was shaking his head “is having a hard time with long division. Even though it’s much easier than algebra. We got new books for the library and I sorted them but we still don’t have the Great Gatsby and Mr. Smith says it’s because it’s too modern and they drink champagne in it, but that’s ridiculous because half the class is drinking champagne on the weekends anyway-”

“I want to talk to her, Miriam, don’t take the whole time.”

Using her elbows and a good deal of brute force, Esther got to the receiver.   
“Mum? Don’t be mad but I tore my dress and Dad doesn’t know how to fix it.” Moving the phone away from her mouth she addressed him. “Mum says it’s like giving stitches but easier because no one’s squirming around.” Shoshanna emerged from the bedroom, looking sleepy but with hair curly in a much more organized way than her siblings. Is that what the rags did? “Shoshanna brought-” She darted across the room and pinched Esther so hard she squealed and grabbed the receiver.

“Hi, Mum!”

“No fighting, love. How are you?”

“Well, I’m all right, but they’re behind.” Alfie looked at the clock and found that this was true.

“Fuck!” He bundled the children out of the kitchen, not bothering with the remainders of the scones, the crumbs, or the plates, and herded them into the bathroom. He wasn’t even dressed, fuck.

Shoshanna cupped her hand over the receiver and spoke much more quietly. “So Dad found out I’m seeing someone. And I had to get Nicky--you remember, the nice one, who I had lunch with? Yeah, so I got him to come over, but you know Nicky’s got no practice in lying, so…”

“An explosion?”

“No, he did well, otherwise. Nobody died, didn’t get even close.”

“Love, if he’s so unsuitable that he can’t even stand a dinner--”

“He’s just not interested in marrying, and I’m not, and it’s not my fault Dad is so--”

“Wot?” Alfie poked his head in the kitchen. “Come on now, you’re the one that’s behind.”

“I have to go. Love you, mum.”

“Love you!” She handed over the receiver and disappeared, presumably to gather her books but possibly also to give him another headache trying to figure out if she’d put on makeup or not.

“Hey.”

“Hi there.” He could hear the smile, even if he couldn’t see it. “I hear you’re having quite the time.”

“Do you remember anything else from the list?”

“No sugar at breakfast is fairly important, I’d say.”

He cleared his throat. “Noted.”

“You’ve already let them have it, haven’t you.”

“Only if cake counts. Once.”

“We should have a second honeymoon.”

“Oh?”

“You’d just like it here. A lot.”

“Mm, give it another fifteen years. Jacob’s still having nightmares.”

“Aw. Have you been reading to him?” He didn’t even have to reply to that. “Just make up a story if you don’t like any of the books. He falls asleep with a bit of rocking, and if you plant the seed of some animal story, it holds through the night most of the time.”

“All right.” He sounded a little defeated.

“Hey. Nobody’s dead, nobody’s injured. It’s day three. And I love you, okay?”

“I love you,” he said, just as someone banged on the door. “Right back, all right?”

“You can go.” Again, someone hammered away at it. By the sound of it, he couldn’t wait. He dropped the receiver and all but ran.

Ollie.

“What is it?” he demanded.

“You’re technically the building owner!”

“What?”

“At the bakery. The police are trying to serve warrants!”

Oh, fuck. The opening salvo. He pulled on his coat. “Shoshie, it’s all down to you,” he yelled over his shoulder, then shot out the door.

“Who is it?”   
“A Mr. Cohen, a--”

“No, the police.”

“Oh, it’s locals. Sergeant Russo, Tom Owen, and some new kid.” Ollie almost had to skip to keep up.

“Did they catch all the back doors?”

“I don’t know, I just ran. Bates was holding the front room when I left, insisting something about you and a supervisor. They didn’t look like they’d kick down the front door.”

Coat and boots over pyjamas, no gun, no hat. Not fucking ideal, but far from bad. He hit the front doors in motion and they flew open.

“Right!” he roared at the men assembled there. It wasn’t so much an observation as a demand.

“Russo, what the fuck is this?”

The sergeant scratched his nose. “Got a warrant to serve to you. License isn’t up to date, and we’ve had complaints that you’re manufacturing illegal liquor.”

“That’s fucking ridiculous, mate. Do I look like someone who’d flaunt the law? Right in the middle of Camden town.”

Russo gave him a sharp look that looked out of place on his doughy face. “You look like you’re in your pyjamas.”

“S the style. And I’m not under arrest for pyjamas, am I?”

Russo sighed, clearly wishing he was back in bed. “Are you going to come quietly?”

Alfie grinned, all bared teeth. “I will call my lawyer. And, in a gesture of good fucking faith, will provide you and your men with the bread we exclusively manufacture here, and this will all be resolved peacefully.”

The new one, who looked like his voice still cracked looked up and caught his gaze.

“Don’t think we can do that, Mr. Solomons.” And in a single motion had pulled his gun out, shot, and left Ollie crumpled on the floor. The room descended into chaos in a heartbeat and in another the shooter was on his knees on the floor. Russo, clearly having decided this was above his pay grade or whatever bribes he’d received, left with Owen.

Alfie took his cane and pressed into the boy’s stomach.

“Well?”

He smiled through bloodied teeth. “The Cortesis send their regards.”

“Alright then.” And he swung the cane hard enough to dent that youthful head, and again and again until there wasn’t much left.

“Goliath!” The giant emerged. “Pick him up, come with me. Peter, you’re in charge till I come back. Assess the damage, hide the barrels. I’ll be here within the hour.”

He left his cane on the floor of the bakery in the puddle of blood and limped back towards home. The door wasn’t locked so he pushed it open with the barrel of his gun, keeping it drawn as he walked down the hall into the living room. Shoshanna sprung up from an armchair.

“Where are-”

“They’re at school, Jacob’s in the bedroom. I called in sick.”

“I don’t know if you should be here.”

She squared her jaw. “I can handle it.”

Goliath, stooped and still carrying Ollie in some crude imitation of the Pieta brought him into the sitting room and froze when he saw his cousin who’d gasped.

“Get rags then, clean ones, your mum’s sewing kit, and some whiskey. Goliath, hold him down.”

Ollie moaned. “You’re alright, mate, keep still.”

Shoshanna bustled off, looking wan but determined.

He ran through it all in his head. “Kitchen table, come on.” By the time Shoshanna got back, they had him flat on his back, shirt off, and pressure on his stomach. From the waist down, Goaliath looked like he’d stepped in a vat of red paint.

“The bullet?” She offered him a set of tweezers.

“Give him the whiskey first,” Alfie barked. There had been two bullets, and one had gone through but the other was, as far as Alfie could tell, deep inside him. With all that blood, he didn’t know if Ollie could take even the two or three minutes they’d need to fish it out. He made a quick decision. Grabbing the rags from her, he took a long strip and wrapped it round Ollie’s middle, pulling hard at the last second and tying a knot. Then there were more folds, for absorption, and then he simply leaned. Sometimes that was all there was, blood and the need to keep it inside that fucking body.

Shoshanna said something, a little hesitantly.

“Wot?”

“He won’t take the whiskey. He’s out cold.”

“Wake him up. With cold water, if you can. He knew if there was too much blood loss, people could go off. Their brains needed the blood, or something, and he’d been told something else also about keeping people awake but frankly in the heat of battle he’d rarely had the time to save anybody, and when things calmed, there were always other people, medics.

“Goliath, get a doctor,” he snapped, though it was probably too late for that.

“Who--”

“Whoever’s closest.”

He looked wrong, that much was obvious. Never one for a suntan, but now Ollie’s skin was starting to look artificial. His face was wet where Shoshie had tried splashing him with water, and now she was patting him on the cheek and whispering in his ear and all Alfie could think of was Big Saul telling him to take care of his son.

“It’s all right,” Shoshanna said, and he heard that clearly, and then he knew.

“Shoshie, get out.” The blood was still coming and he knew that because he was standing in a pool of it, feeling it grow and she shouldn’t be seeing this. This shouldn’t be in his fucking home. This should be someone else, or someone else. Maybe him, maybe the bakery--

“Dad.”

“Shoshanna.” He wanted to point at her, or grab her shoulder, but his hands were busy, and he had to make do with a stare. “Don’t try to be brave. Sometimes there’s no fucking point.”

She wanted to stay, he could tell, prove some fucking point but not here, not like this, not with someone she’d gotten lunch with yesterday. “Please. Shoshie just, go watch Jacob.”

She nodded and fled. Fucking hellfire. Ollie was still, too still when Goliath barged back in with the doctor.

“What happened?”

Alfie gave him a stare. “He fell. Stop the bleeding.”

He opened his kit and began working mechanically. “Press down here, please. No, not you, the big one.”  
Goliath stepped forward and did as directed. “And you call an ambulance. He needs to go to the hospital right now.”

“Might be there’s a bullet in there,” Alfie muttered before running for the telephone. He didn’t want to do this--there was likely a fight waiting for them in the hospital--but he couldn’t afford to not do it, either.

The operator seemed quite distant, quite uninterested in the particulars of who he was, which was an unwelcome novelty at that particular moment. He gave his address and the circumstances, and was told that the ambulance would arrive in ten minutes.

There was no point in exploding at whoever-it-was, and it would have only reached the kitchen and upset everybody there, so all he said was, “Right,” then hung up.

“Mr. Solomons!” the doctor called again, and he knew.

He walked slowly back into the kitchen to find Goliath still standing there, pressing down on Ollie’s stomach, and the doctor pumping on Ollie’s chest. Ollie’s arm dangled over the edge of the table, and it looked like they were playing some macabre game with a life-sized doll.

Leave him alone, Alfie wanted to say, but that would be a conversation, there would be an objection, and a great weariness overcame him so that he could not speak. There was no family left but his family now, and Goliath. The last of the Camden Boys, however vestigial, was gone, and Ollie besides, a well-meaning boy who had taken Shoshie to lunch and done every other thing Alfie had demanded, through thick and thin, and through a lot of shouting. A good boy. At his age, still a boy.

There was a moment where the doctor lifted to take a brief look up at him, face full of terror, and Alfie realized what had happened.

“Not your fault,” he said. “You can stop, if it’s no use.”

“I’m sorry,” the doctor said. He stepped away.

There was nothing to say to that. Logistics only, and he found concentrating even on those small things difficult. He felt like the only man left alive. “Go on,” he said to Goliath, gruffly. To the doctor he said nothing, just handed him a small wad of money and opened the door.

Then it was just him and the house and the body. He should say something, or somebody should say something, and he was the only one there, but he didn’t have it in him. It was the morning. It was the time he was supposed to be walking to the bakery, up to his office, to read the paper. He was tired.

He changed into unbloodied clothes before he went in to check on Jacob and Shoshanna. It was times like these that made him very grateful to have a thick beard.

Shoshanna sprung up when she saw him. The expression on his face was all she needed to know.

“Fuck.” She whispered and it was so full of pain his heart broke even more. Jacob, blessedly, was still on the floor, and Alfie wrapped him in his arms and smelled his head and thought, selfishly, that he’d never let his son die on anyone’s kitchen table and how profoundly grateful he was to hold him in his arms.

“I can call the rabbi.” He shook his head, not trusting his voice quite yet.

“He’s still on the table.”

Shoshanna froze. God, she was so young. She shouldn’t have to deal with this not now, not ever.

“Well. Someone needs to call him before the others come home.” After that hiccup she’d snapped straight into practical, and she was the spit of her mother who he needed. Now. Fuck America and everything associated with it. “I assume you’ll be at work for a while, right? I can take care of this.”

“You don’t have to. This shouldn’t be your concern.”

“But it is, Dad. I can handle it I swear to you.”

“There’ll be questions.”

“And I can cope with those as well. I promise, I will take care of this.”

Alfie weighed the words in his mind. He knew she meant it but it’s one thing to say and another to do. However, she was right. He needed to get back to work and figure out the next move.

“Call if you need anything. Shoshanna, anything. Keep the door locked and only let the Rabbi and the ambulance in, alright? There’s a gun in the pantry in the spelt flour, do you remember how to shoot?”   
She nodded, resolute.

“Fuck. Protect Jacob, and I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

After a quick change out of his pyjamas which he bundled up for the incinerator, he was out the door again. Shoshanna watched him go, Jacob on her hip, looking for all the world like she was made of stone. He hated this, he hated having to do this to his daughter and forcing her to grow up in ways he’d vowed she would never have to do.

When he opened the front door and found someone outside, he nearly shot her. The gun was out of his holster before he recognized who it was, and it took him a second before he could bring himself to put it away.

“Hello, Mrs. Rosenthal,” he said. “What can I do for you?”

“It’s all right,” she said, “The whole neighborhood saw Goliath coming out the door with blood all down his front.” She patted him on the arm, and he made some kind of noise in the back of his throat. “We’d come in and look after him if you let us.”

“Just you,” he said, “And two others, one armed. Pick them very fucking carefully. He’s on the kitchen table, there’s chicken in the icebox, and don’t let Shoshie shoot you.”

She hugged him before he could do anything about it, and he found himself just making another sound, almost like clearing his throat, and patting her on the back before she let go and went into the house.

All right. All right. The sky and air was sharp and crisp, and he had a gun, and he had dozens of men, and it was time.


	8. the first in the family

By two o’clock that afternoon, a few things had been sorted. There was Sabini, and of course he didn’t trust him any farther than he could throw--scratch that, he didn’t trust Sabini any farther than Sabini could throw him. There was the policemen, dead. There was a great deal of shattered glass in his upper left arm, and there was, in an hour, the end of school. Nothing much more on the business front could be done until that night, so he indulged himself in a glass of rum as he set about plucking out the glass. He also had the telephone wedged between head and shoulder.

“Alfie, is that you?”

“Abigail.” He closed his eyes. It was honestly like being lost in a massive forest and coming across one other person. Perhaps there was no way out of this, but somehow even that was so much better when she was with him. A relief.

“Shoshanna told me everything.”

He nodded, then realized she couldn’t see. “All right,” he said, very quietly. She was trying to spare his feelings, he thought. Shoshie had probably had a cry on the phone. And Abigail had probably felt guilty for it, and--

“Are you all right?”

“Mmhmm. Just glass. Bruises. And the sensation of a stick up my arse that is working with Darby fucking Sabini.”

“There are no alternatives?”

“None that work. None with the motivation. They shot Harry Sabini in the stomach, and they didn’t shoot me. He knew who I was, and he aimed for the man beside me, point-blank. There will be some kind of deal offered, otherwise they’d have had me shot instead.”

“Will you take it?”

“Would you?”

“Of course not.”

“They got in with a bribe to Russo. We got Russo, and Owen with him. The police did nothing, so. Between that and the entire street watching, the girls will be alright. And Jacob. I don’t think he saw a thing.”

“All right.” Even down the line at a thousand miles, he could hear it when she turned gentle. “The logistics are enough. You can tell me more later. Or Mrs. Rosenthal can, it doesn’t matter. Alfie?”

“Mm?”

“How are you?”

“I’m fuckin tired, mate. I’m fucking...I have a funeral to plan.”

“Alfie?”

He put down the tweezers and picked up the phone. Ten years ago he probably would have shouted and hung up, but that was ten years ago. Now he just said, “His dad,” and wiped his nose on his sleeve.

“I know.”

“This is not. This is not a good fucking life. I keep fucking thinking it is, I get fucking complacent, and then it’s not. It’s not.”

“I know, my love.”

“But who else?”

She sighed and he heard her sadness across the Atlantic Ocean. “I know.”

“I do have to go.”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too, darling.”

He cradled his head in his hands before picking up the phone again. “Epstein, please.”

It only took ten minutes, that was the fuck of a thing. Ten minutes to tell someone you’d killed their boy, pick him up at Mercy General? He wished it’d taken ten years and he could wake up in a different life and maybe make real bread for a living. God Almighty. Who was going to replace Ollie? Who could he possibly put in that position? Maybe he should get a dog and live by the sea and raise Jacob to be a fisherman or some shit. He had to go home. He had to hold his children close and thank every single deity he’d ever heard of that he could do that at all. And then, he would plan a funeral with Mrs. Rosenthal and the other neighborhood women. He stood, winced, and pulled his coat over his shoulders before pausing at Ollie’s desk. He rapped his knuckles against it once, then strode through the door.

When he walked through the school, he could tell the children knew, because they stepped out of his way, and it had been such a day that that didn’t hurt his feelings a whit. Usually it was children and dogs, but today he’d had a conversation where as he’d talked he’d forgotten that he was picking splinters out of his arm, so that was fine, that was all fine. Esther and Miriam were in Library East and Esther hurled himself at him, all hugs and questions. Miriam was old enough to know better, in public. She didn’t hold his hand on the way back from school. He tried to answer Esther as best as he could, but that wasn’t much, just that Ollie was dead, and it hadn’t been too bad, and there was a mess in the house and Mrs. Rosenthal had supper for them, that they were to stay in the bedroom for now. She had her little face contorted in a fierce frown after that, and he could see that as the exact minute when revenge crossed her mind, but much to his surprise she didn’t vocalize it. Maybe she’d learned the lesson that a lot of talking was an expression of powerlessness more than anything. He hadn’t even tried to teach her that one, yet, fuck. Well, at least his children were all smart. And alive. And hungry. He liked that he could give them food, at least.

They’d settled eventually, Miriam doing her homework with a grim look on her face and Esther settled into a defensive posture around Jacob, who blessedly was too young to understand. Shoshanna kept a straight face, but occasionally it would crumple and she would vanish into the bathroom. The water wasn’t quite loud enough to drown out her sobs but Esther and Jacob didn’t seem to notice. Miriam had a new line furrowed between her eyebrows and he hated that. He hated that they were huddled in the bedroom instead of sprawled out throughout the flat, that Esther had asked him if she could leave to get some water, that there had been a dead boy on the kitchen table. Fuck, he’d need to figure out how to get bloodstains out. Mrs. Rosenthal bustled through with soup and bread and stuffed them full and bathed Jacob and ironed the girls’ dresses before leaving everyone with a tight hug. The sun was down and Jacob was asleep, and so was Esther, cuddled up in the same bed. Miriam and Shoshanna were whispering in the corner, the candle’s flickering light illuminating their worried faces.

“You both should go to bed.”

Miriam nodded and stood but Shoshanna stayed, tucked into the corner.

“I...I can’t sleep.” That admission was enough to make her break, and she began to cry silently.

“Come here.” He gathered her up and began to rock her just like he used to when she was very little, her head tucked into his shoulder by his chin. “‘S all right. Let it out.” This part he was far too familiar with, but no matter how many times he did it, he’d never get any good at it. It wasn’t exactly the kind of thing he thought you could be good at. What would be the good thing to say? All he knew was that when Big Saul had died, he hadn’t heard a word Abigail said, but it had helped to be warm, and after Abigail lost their first, he thought it might have helped that he’d held her. These things came to their family more often than they did for others, but up until now he’d been, by dint of unceasing, possibly paranoid effort, been able to spare the children. Now he wondered if Shoshanna counted as a child anymore.

Presently she began to tire out, just like she had when she was little, but this time her troubles weren’t as easily forgotten as a scraped knee or a bruised head.

“How do you do it?” she said. There was no reproach in her voice, but it hurt anyway. He recognized the little gesture of her wiping her nose on her sleeve. Abigail had always tried to make her use a handkerchief and almost always failed.

“Do what?” Her face was still a little wet and he tried to clear away some of the curls that had gotten plastered to her cheeks. It was easier to talk when he could see eyes, sometimes.

“Sleep.” There was absolutely no jab in there, though he wished there was. Any humor, any deprecation of himself, anything to be more like his daughter.

“I don’t know. Sometimes I don’t.”

“But sometimes you do. How did you learn to do it?”

“I don’t remember.”

She looked up. “Dad, if it’s something really bad, that’s fine. I just want to know.”

“I’m telling you, love, if I could help you, I would, but I don’t--”

She batted his hand away. “Dad, it’s okay. What? Sex? Is that why you’re always drinking? Is it--”

“No, fuck, Shoshie, listen. Okay? I’m not lying when I say I don’t remember. I don’t remember. I was little, right? I don’t remember the first person that died because as far as I can remember, people were always dying.” She didn’t look any sadder but she didn’t look happier either and he kissed her forehead because he couldn’t take it back. “I’m sorry. I wish I knew how it worked for--for when it’s the first time and you’re older. But I don’t remember. I don’t think your mother remembers.”

“So I’m the first in the family.” She scrubbed at her face again, then sat there, thinking. He let it be, and just rubbed her back, and wiped his own nose with a handkerchief. Realized he had handkerchiefs. Handed one over, silently thanking Abigail for keeping him stocked. Even across the Atlantic, she was looking out for them.

Abruptly, Shoshanna put down the handkerchief and looked up at him. It took every bit of him not to look away. She threw her arms around his neck and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “You kept it away from me for seventeen years, Dad, and that’s a lot. I know it’s a lot. I love you. Okay?”

It was the worst thing she could have possibly said to him at that moment, particularly because she meant it so deeply. He tried to object through a thicket of beard and sound but he was also trying not to cry, so he botched both, a little. He ended up making some kind of a noise, and wiping his eyes while he thought she couldn’t notice. “Thanks,” he got out a minute later.

Disentangling herself, Shoshanna took out her her hairpins and started doing up her curls again. He would’ve mentioned that it was late at night and nobody was going anywhere, but clearly this was some kind of a ritual. He could see her making up her mind about something.

She gave him a pat on the shoulder, then went into the bathroom. Alfie sat there, gathering up handkerchiefs, giving his nose one last wipe, and then rose and went to check on the little ones. Bless them, this had been a busy last few days (or was this what their lives were always like? If so, Abigail must run on something stronger than cocaine) and they were all still fast asleep. He was very, very tempted to give Jacob one little kiss on the forehead, but he knew that if one of them woke up, there were infinite possibilities of snacks and stories demanded and he’d never see an end to it. So he crept out to the kitchen instead, avoiding the kitchen table and everything around it, threw some basic ingredients in a bowl, and fetched a big wooden board.

Bowl and board in hand, he tiptoed to the bathroom, which still had its door open. He could see in the mirror Shoshanna had undone the pins and was now putting up her curls in those rag things. After a second, he sat down, balanced the board on his legs, and started kneading out the dough for morning sticky buns.

“You don’t have to watch me like some kind of puppy,” she said.

“I might. You still have at least one secret admirer I have not met. Who knows, we could have boys coming out of the woodwork.”

“And you’re going to scare them all away with your flour?”

“With my rolling pin.”

“Well, thanks.”

He grunted, and they fell into a busy silence. Maybe neither of them was completely comfortable, and certainly neither of them was completely happy, but it was better to be together, he thought.

Eventually, the rags process was over with, and she’d bundled the whole mass of hair up in a kerchief. Then she took a pot of something and began to rub it intently across her face. When did this all get so complicated? Esther had been known to fall asleep with dirt still streaked across her face if recess had gotten particularly rough, and Miriam still seemed to float untethered from such mundane things as curls and face cream. After finishing by brushing her teeth, she stepped over him.

“I think I’ll try going to bed.”

He nodded. “Sleep well, Shoshanna.”

She turned the light off behind her. Even after leaving the rolls to rise for the morning, he stayed in a chair from the kitchen by the bedroom door. 


	9. Mo(u)rning Rolls

Sometime after midnight, he thought, he’d dozed off, and was wakened far too soon by Jacob’s little hands in his beard. 

“Dada, why aren’t you in bed?” 

Shifting Jacob so he wasn’t entirely on his bad knee, he grumbled “I wanted to make sure there weren’t any monsters, innit?”   
Jacob let that one rattle around in his head for a moment before he untangled himself and made a beeline for the bathroom. 

“Jacob, no.” But, stiff from the night in the chair, he couldn’t compete with the manic energy toddlers had before- he checked his watch- fucking five in the morning. Even real bakers might get a moment’s more sleep. The sound of the tap was enough to evoke a panic response, and he scooped Jacob away from the running sink and dried his face off with his shirt. His face crumpled and Alfie had had enough tears for a lifetime at this point. 

“Do you want to help Daddy make rolls? You can have raisins.” At the prospect of raisins, Jacob’s face brightened again, and so it was off to the kitchen. 

Alfie knew a doctor who occasionally took patients off-the-record for cash up front, and this doctor had, on one unpleasant night, while they were waiting to see if one of his men would pull through, talked to him about his time at orphanages. It was worse than horror stories, really, but the one that stood out to him was the one about the child that had trouble talking, mostly because it had been so preventable. As a result, when he had the children, when they were very tiny, he would talk to them nonstop, and with Jacob, he was so little and Alfie was so tired, he found himself falling into old habits and babbling. “Raisins are good, right?” Jacob made a little noise of assent. “Right. But with any bread, we can’t put too much in. We can’t put in too much raisins, or any kind of dried fruit, or nuts, because it will weigh down the bread, right? Recipes are for other people, but we still have to be careful.”

“Have to be careful,” Jacob echoed, sounding so tiny and so wise that Alfie couldn’t resist planting a kiss on the top of his little head. 

“That’s right. And we want all these lumps of dough--see? See this? All the lumps of dough, we want them to be the same size, kind of, because if one of them is too small, it will get hard and brown. And if one is too big, it won’t bake enough. It will stay all soft and doughy on the inside. Fuckin’ yucky, right?” Oh, damn. He’d gotten so far without cursing. So far.

“Fuckin yucky,” Jacob agreed.

He decided to let it go. “Right, so what do you think we should do with this?” He picked up a particularly big lump of dough that Jacob had artistically twisted into something resembling a bowtie. 

“Mm…” Jacob ripped off a piece, then looked up at Alfie for approval.

“Good lad.” 

He considered himself pretty lucky that Jacob hadn’t asked about some of the stains still on the table, but mercifully, with the help of some neighbors and a great deal of bleach, the blood had been mostly got out of the floor and all other evidence of yesterday’s carnage had been disposed of. Ollie had to be buried as soon as possible, but his mum hadn’t been in any state to talk about it. He didn’t blame her; Ollie had been her last.

“Dad, it’s not even sunup yet.” Miriam stood in the doorway, rubbing her eyes.

“I know, it’s all right, you can go back to sleep if you want.”

“Issa raisin!” Jacob held aloft a single raisin with a gleam of proprietary pride in his eyes.

“Dad, he really should be in bed right now.”

“But he was just going to wash his face into eternity, and I don’t have the money for that water bill.”

“Dad.”

“All right, what if I get him B A C K in B E D?”

Jacob wrinkled his little nose distrustfully at this very clear adult signal that he was being talked about.

“It won’t go, there’s not enough time yet for him to get good sleep. He’ll just be more tired when you try to wake him up. Babies go through sleep in waves.”

Waves? Where had she read this? Because he knew she’d read it somewhere, of course, like every other strange thing she hit him on the head with.

“We’ll finish the buns, and then we’ll go read stories in the living room,” he decided. “Sitting is almost like sleeping.”

“‘Make Jacob sleep till sunup’ is not something Mum should have had to write on the list.”

“Well the list’s lost, innit. Esther ate it while you were trying to eat cake.”

“That’s not the point.” She shook her head, looking exactly like her mum, then wandered off somewhere. A few seconds later, he heard the click of an electric torch and knew she was probably reading under the covers. 

He hadn’t really appreciated how deeply boring children’s books were until he was on his fifth read through of something inane about a dog. Jacob squealed every time it was revealed the dog had caught his tail. He fucking hated this dog. Finally, it was a decent enough hour to justify sticking the rolls in the oven and checking in on the girls. Miriam was face down on her copy of David Copperfield, but Esther poked her head up when he came in. 

“Is it time to get up?” She tried to whisper but he honestly did not think she’d ever whispered in her life. She’d inherited her dad’s bluster, which he assumed served her well in her scraps with playground bullies. Maybe less so in temple. Shoshanna, without ever opening her eyes, threw a pillow at Esther, who swiped it out of the air and had tossed it back in a practiced motion. 

“It wasn’t but now Shoshie’s up anyway.” Miriam sat up, blinking sleepily. 

“There’s rolls soon, you can have ‘em after you’re dressed.” Esther sprung out of bed, but Shoshanna had gone back to snoring and Miriam had turned another page. 

Within half an hour, everyone had congregated in the kitchen, though no one wanted to touch the table except Jacob, and he’d once stuck his fingers up Goliath’s nose. 

“Drink your milk, Esther.” 

“Why?” She tried to raise one eyebrow like Miriam could, but ended up looking perplexed and maybe slightly ill. 

“Because I said so. And so you can be strong. Miriam, no books at the table.” 

“Why not?” 

He sighed. Secretly he was grateful for the usual morning chaos since it clarified the grey edges of not enough sleep and took his head away from the fucking bakery. 

“Because I fucking said so.” 

“Dad, do we have to go to school?” Esther had clearly come up with something. 

“Why the fuck wouldn’t you go?

“Because Ollie died.” 

Shoshanna stood up, abandoning her morning roll, and left. Miriam pinched Esther who yelped and swatted her. Alfie missed his wife who would definitely know how to handle this. 

“Yes, you still have to go to school. Finish your rolls and get ready, it’s almost time. Miriam, can you get Jacob dressed? Esther put on your stockings, it’s cold out.” He went back to the room to find Shoshana perched on the edge of her bed, looking lost. 

“Are you going in to work today?” 

She shook her head. “I called them yesterday. I’m helping Ollie’s mum with the funeral.” 

He nodded. “I’ll be at the bakery if you need anything.” 

She smiled, tense. “I think Esther just punched Miriam.” 

Sure enough, there was a howl coming from the kitchen. 

“Fuck.” 

He separated them, yelled until Esther put on her stockings and gathered her work, and they set off down the street with him planted firmly between the two. 

“Esther, be good today. Please.” 

She grumbled something he chose to interpret as a yes and left them at the school, mercifully unbothered by Stevens who he would have laid out today especially, and steeled himself to walk back into the bakery.


	10. Keep Your Friends Close and Fuck Your Enemies (no, not like that)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alfie is maybe cursed

He opened the doors to the bakery. Rather than the usual industrial noises and orders barked out over the barrels, it sounded like a fucking marketplace. There were at least three dozen men milling about in there, men he had not fucking hired. He knew them all from around Camden, local toughs. They fell silent at the sight of him for a moment, before a fucking tidal wave of Jewish men nearly knocked him over. 

“Mr. Solomons I graduated from-” 

“They’re not gonna get away with this shit I swear-” 

“My name is Eli and I-”

“You helped my Dad’s store and-” 

“Enough!” he bellowed. They were quiet once again. He wished his children were half as responsive. “What the fuck is all this then? Hmm? You’d think I was running a fucking half price whore house.” 

Looking nervous, one brave man stepped forward. The bakers looked amused. 

“Mr. Solomons, sir. We heard what happened with Ollie and we want to help.” 

Alfie processed this. He knew Ollie had had friends, of course. He always seemed to be talking to somebody, taking somebody soup or running off for a quick word with somebody. It was one of the things Alfie liked about him, the boy was like a living address book for every social connection in Camden Town. And had candy in his pockets for the children besides. But. 

“Do you have a leader?” 

There was a great deal of shuffling about a murmuring, but not a definitive no. Eventually the crowd sort of parted, or at least cleared slightly, and a short man with the face of a bulldog shoved his hands in his pockets and said, “Wouldn’t say that.”

Close enough. “You, with me. The rest of you, don’t touch anything, don’t move, don’t fucking breathe, alright?” He hustled up the stairs and into his office, waved the man in impatiently and shut the door behind him. “Right. What is this?”

“They want to help.”

“Because of Ollie?” 

“Yeah.”

Alfie eyed him a moment, then went to sit behind his desk. He pulled out a sheet of paper. “What can they do?”

“There’s thirty-five of them, give or take. So almost anything.”

It was too early in the fucking morning for this. Alfie fixed him with a glare. “Look, just get their names and numbers and send them all home. There’s no work for them here, we’re not hiring, and I’m not sending a bunch of shopkeepers after the fucking Mafia.”

“Isn’t the Mafia the Americans?”

Alfie pointed an accusatory finger in the direction of the entryway below. “They bake pies! They make fucking...suits. They couldn’t take two Italians, much less these ones.”

“They grew up in the same London as you and I did, and they’ve learned the same lessons. You need to give them something now, while they still have momentum. You send them away, they’ll feel slighted, they’ll take that energy somewhere else.”

“I’ve met you before, haven’t I.”

“Camden Town is a small place.”

“You’re one of Rachel’s people.”

“What?”

“You’re a Communist. Like Jessie Eden.”

“I’m a Socialist.”

“So now I have a fucking Communist politician in my office, fucking wonderful.”

“Again, not a politician, not a leader.”

Alfie took a second. He wanted very badly to pour out some rum, but again the sun had only just risen. “Sit down. Have a cigarette. Tell me what’s actually going on.”

“They’re already riled up because of the North side tenants getting kicked out. There’s reports from France we don’t care for. And they did all genuinely like Ollie. I liked him. Even you did, I’m betting; he made it easy. So we were all out the other night, having a talk about it, and I suggested we ask you first thing in the morning what we could do. You’d know. Take a second and think about it. You’re getting the offer of three dozen men, and maybe it’s an inconvenience to your fucking morning but it means a lot to them, and you can get a lot out of three dozen men. If they’re angry. Which they are.”

Alfie handed him the paper and a pen. “Get their information, and tell them I’ll be down in ten minutes. I need to think.”

“Is ten minutes going to be long enough?”

Alfie glared. “Tell them I’ll be down in five.”

With a stupid smirk on his face, the socialist- David? Maybe?- left and shut the office door behind him. Fuck. What in the hell was he going to do with a group of angry communists? 

Four minutes later, he left the office, and started circling the group. A few of them looked nervous. Good. He picked a particularly intellectual looking one and prodded him lightly with the cane, delighting at how far he jumped. 

“Right. You’re looking for a fucking revolution, yeah? Fucking proletariat and shit. Well, I’ve got bad fucking news for you lot. I’m a fucking capitalist pig, right? This is a money making operation.” 

Probably David opened his mouth, then shut it. 

“No, no, say what you were going to say.” 

“Mr. Solomons, you contribute so much to the community. You take care of the needy. That’s all we want to do.” 

“Yeah, I’m a fucking philanthropist. Right there, where you’re standing, I beat a man to death yesterday. Smashed his fuckin head in.” 

Probably David shifted to the side. “Ollie was our friend. I can’t guarantee people won’t go after the Italians either way, and I don’t want any more unnecessary deaths.” 

Alfie scratched at his beard. “Situation’s been fucking dealt with, mate. All I need’s a new accountant.” 

Men shuffled. At first he thought it was aimless motion, but it quickly became clear they were making way for someone. Out of the crowd of socialists stepped- fuck. 

Miriam smiled beautifically. “Hi, Dad. I’d like to apply for this position.” 

Alfie stared in horror. He’d overseen school security himself, made sure there was a lock on the gate and taken a look at the background of every teacher, the infuriating Stevens included, and yet here was a 14-year-old girl wandered out. Well, not wandered. He was fairly sure if he got the truth of it from her it would sound more like a heist. 

“Right, no. And also mate, fucking no. Okay? You’re not even out of school yet.”

“I can do the math. And I know most of the things they want to teach us, anyway.”

“This is a place of work. I can’t have my children running around handling important documents. It’s nepotism is what it is.”

“Dad, you love nepotism.”

Why did she know what the word meant. He barely knew what it meant. For fuck’s sake. “Miriam, the Italians killed someone in this room yesterday, and I still haven’t got all their fucking friends yet. I’d have to be fucking mad to let you stay here.”

“You just said the situation had been...dealt with.”

Right. They could not be having this fight in front of the men, not when she was smarter than him. He’d only accidentally gotten these recruits and whatever he was going to use them for, this was no way to keep them. “Family, Miriam,” he said, with a look. She got the message.

“Family,” she muttered, annoyed but resigned.

He almost called for Ollie to come and take her to school, but then, of course not. He would have to take her himself. “You lot stay here, I’ll be right back. Don’t try to seize the means of production or whatnot, I’m still fucking armed--” He gestured at the various “bakers” around them “--and so are they.” 

“Are you quoting Marx at us, Mr. Solomons?” said possibly-David.

“Keep your friends close and fuck your enemies, or summat,” said Alfie, and then he took Miriam’s hand and walked out the door.


	11. Sleeping Giants

He waited until they were a safe distance away before grumbling into his beard. “What class did you miss?”

She shrugged. “Maths. I already know it and I told Mr. Evans I was having lady problems and I had to go to the nurse.” He hated how well that worked.

“Apply for jobs after school’s done, right?” 

“I knew you wouldn’t listen to me unless I came in and surprised you. And you should listen, it’s the smart thing to do.” 

“Why’s that then?” 

She sighed like she was about to explain something offensively easy to Esther. “You don’t know those men. Not really, not like you know Ollie.” She frowned for a moment. “Knew Ollie. Anyway, you’ve known me my whole life, and you know I’m much better at numbers than Ollie, even though I’m five years younger. I obviously don’t work for the Italians, and it should be a family business anyway. Like the tailors, or the laundry, or the bakers.”

He sighed. “Miriam, it’s not a bakery. It’s a nasty fucking business is what it is. I wasn’t lying when I said I’d killed someone the other day.” 

“I know, Dad. I’ve known since I was eight.” He looked at her askance. “You’ve done a horrible job hiding it. Shoshie’s known forever, Esther’s starting to get the idea, and once she does she’ll be there every day, asking for a job. And she’ll tell Jacob.”   
Fucking hell. This was all because Abbie used to smuggle guns in the baby carriage. That’d probably fucked them all up in some way. He stopped and stooped, not as far as he once had to, to make eye contact with her. 

“Miriam, you’re my daughter. I would do fucking anything to keep you safe, which is why I am going to walk you into the fucking classroom and make sure you do not leave until the last bell so you can graduate and get a good, normal, job like your fucking sister.”

“Shoshie’s going to nursing school.” 

He closed his eyes. He wanted a drink so fucking badly. “I will speak to your sister. You may not be an accountant for my fucking gang.” 

“Don’t you think it’s unethical for me to reap the rewards of illegal activity without contributing?” 

Thankfully, they were near the school, and he could use the excuse of crossing the street to formulate a response. 

“No, mate. You’re my kid, the rules are fucking different.” 

She had that stubborn look on her face. Fuck. “It’s because I’m a girl. That isn’t fair at all, I’m smarter than everyone else.” 

“What? No. It’s because you’re fourteen.” 

“Why don’t any girls work at the bakery, then?”

“Your mum used to.” 

“Then why can’t I?” 

They were at the gate now, and it was locked. Fucking fuck. 

“It’s alright I know how to get back in. It’s history next which I wanted to go to anyway. Just think about it seriously, alright Dad?” 

She slipped off into the hedges somewhere, leaving him faintly stunned. 

He was sure of it now. Of course their children were hurricanes in the usual day-to-day, but there was absolutely no way that they were this level of wild when Abigail was home. Miriam couldn’t pull out a please let me become a criminal, it’s the smart move once a week, could she now? Nick, now that was a dinner that didn’t happen once a week. He concluded that he had been cursed for something, though why exactly he couldn’t figure out through the whole walk back to the bakery. Of course he didn’t believe in curses, but if someone had cursed him, he had a wide range of possibilities.

When he opened the bakery door, he had a plan. Sort of. “All right, lads, my apologies for the interruption. Listen, here’s how it’s going to be. You--” He pointed to David, then selected about a dozen more, men he knew fairly well, all men established in the community, with families they wouldn’t want to lose, minds sharp enough to move quickly, and bodies that could stand the work. “You all, stay. The rest of you, go talk to Rabbi Kramnik. He’ll know what Ollie’s mum needs help doing, and if that’s not enough work for you, you can help him with some of the temple repairs. I know Ollie was a part in that fundraising, and--and that might fucking work. All right? If you have any objections, write me a letter and chuck it in the fire. You lot, with me.”

He led them to a storage room and sat on one of the barrels. It was more like a cellar than a room, really, and the light that filtered in from the thin, high window was nearly white thanks to a cloudy day. He let them stand round in it for some time as he smoked one cigarette, then another. Finally he spoke. 

“I don’t know what you want, but I do know you probably came to the wrong fucking place to get it.”

He pointed with the butt end of his cigarette. “You, Mische, what do you want? To marry Ilana Peschwitz, right? Take it from me, no woman is going to find it sexy when the police break down your front door and drag you out in your pyjamas.”

“You, David, what do you want? Rise of the fucking proletariat? Don’t let the apron fool you, mate, I’m not a worker. I’m the boss. It’s the wolves against the bear, yeah? We’re natural fucking enemies.“

“You, Simon, I already know what you want, cause you gave that lovely speech in front of all those goyim in Parliament. Heard you on the radio, I did. Very fucking moving. ‘All we want for ourselves and our families is to live out our lives in peace’, yeah? Beautiful.” He yanked up his shirtsleeve and peeled off the stained gauze, revealing the mangled skin beneath. A thousand tiny cuts from glass didn’t make much of a dent in him, but they looked ugly as a rotting corpse. “You see that? Does that look like fucking peace to you?”

As he looked round the semicircle of assembled men, each one stood his ground and looked back at him. Some were a little afraid, he could see, but there was more than enough resolve there to keep it back. Fuck, he loved them, and their work-worn hands, and their steady eyes, and the parts of them that just wanted to go back to bed, and the parts of them that just wanted blood. The honesty of it all. He had learned to love them long before he had learned to love himself, and that had shown him the way. He wouldn’t trade it for anything.

“No, no,” he said. “I know. You came because you wanted something else. Something a bit closer to the mark. You see them hitting us in the center of it all, in this very bakery, under my nose, and you think--if they can get him, they can get any of us. And you look out the window and you hear what they say, and you realize they want to. So all right. You want the satisfaction of hurting them back, and you want to go to bed at night knowing that you’ve just shouted from the rooftops that to fuck with you is to wake a sleeping giant. Is that it? It’s good. It’s very good. But it’s not enough.”

“All this--” he made a oblique gesture with one hand. “--is not just to fuck with you. You need to take me very fucking seriously when I say this is not going to be what you expected. We are not making a proportional strike. We are not restoring the peace. We are not sending a message. We are not getting revenge. Maybe some of that will come along with it, but maybe this will make it worse.”

“I’ve gone round and round with this family one time already, and once was enough. They’re not going to prison, and they’re not going to America. This time, when we face them, we are wiping them out. All of them. Their entire organization, from top to bottom, is going to be broken. And it’s going to be selfish. And it’s going to be nasty. And you’re going to have fucking nightmares about it, if you live through it, which you might not. But if you do, you can stand up and say to yourself, one day, that you don’t have to worry about these people coming for you anymore. And it will be true.”

“Now’s the time, boys. After this, you’re going to lie, and steal, and kill. So there’s the door, and this one time I’m not fucking lying to you when I say there’s no hard feelings.”

There was some shuffling among the men, clear consideration.

“I won’t talk. But I have children.” It was Yaron, a grave, balding man of about fifty who had been a doctor in the army. When he looked at Alfie, he managed to look both apologetic and unapologetic. They understood each other.

“Fair, mate, yeah. You know where the door is.” With a nod, Yaron left. Alfie looked round the group. “Anyone else? Now’s the time.”

“Fucking get on with it,” Mische growled, and in that moment they were all young men again, squatting in a corner of the prison yard, Mische standing watch. In that moment they were leaning against the muddy wall of a trench, ears pounding with the sound in the sky. 

Alfie grinned a grin that showed teeth, heart full of love and murder. “All right, boys. This is how it’s going to go.”

When he got home, the sun had already set. Shoshie had a record on and was trying to teach Esther how to Charleston, to much general hilarity. Jacob had clambered onto Miriam’s lap and she was reading to him from Alice and Wonderland. It was so heartwarming he had to ruin it.   
“You lot should watch the door.” 

Shoshanna looked up, laughter dying on her face. “Dad, it’s fine. It was locked.” 

“You have to be fucking careful.” 

“Well, I’m sorry. I didn’t fucking ask to get involved in a criminal conspiracy.”

“You could have left. You could have stayed in the bedroom with Jacob.” 

“Be fucking honest. If someone did break down the door, it’s not because I tried to save my friend’s life. It’s because of our dad.” She tried to keep her face set, but he could see her chin wobble and hear a crack in her voice. The record was over, and for a moment there was nothing but the static and crackle coming from the gramophone. She lifted the needle off gently before she left the room. Miriam turned the page pointedly. 

“She made soup. It’s on the stove.” 

Alfie abandoned his previous hopes of having a nice family dinner and settled instead for eating two bowls of soup with his gun still tucked in his coat, listening to Miriam read. Things were simple, for now. He knew better than to be fooled into thinking things were all right. But they were simple. He settled down with a big sheaf of mail and a whiskey, and was deep in thought replying to a missive from some German fellow with quite interesting ideas by the name of Otto, when the phone rang. Esther stopped mid-leap (without a partner, she had progressed to more modern dance concepts) and dashed over to the phone. Alfie sighed. Ever since her investigative call about Shoshanna’s boyfriend, she’d become enamored of the telephone and all the information it contained. He figured it was harmless fun.

“Who is it?” Shoshanna called from her room.

“Someone wants to know if you ordered a fresh load of fish from the West side docks? They got their order slips mixed up.”

“No,” said Alfie. “Tell them to try Mrs. Rosenthal, she may be cooking up a new recipe for the cold months.”

“All right.”

He set aside his papers. “Actually, mate, call your mother.” If there was anything that could lure Shoshanna out of her room, it would be that.

There was quite a bit of pleased chatter, and then, “Mum wants to know when the funeral is.”

He sighed and set aside his papers. So much for luring Shoshanna out. “I haven’t asked the Rabbi yet. Soon, I’d think.”  
“Mum says we should do a load of laundry before we run out of clothes and have to go to school in fancy things.”

“She’s not wrong.” As Esther continued chatting, Alfie limped down the hall and knocked on Shoshanna’s bedroom door. “Shoshie? Come talk to your mum. I’ll do all the laundry myself if you give me your old stuff.”

No answer.

“Shoshie?” He pushed the door open to find the window open and Shoshanna gone.

“Goddammit.”


	12. The Birmingham Defiler

He turned back, only to find Jacob at the other end of the hall, looking inquiringly up at him. Tiny and mostly wordless as the boy was, he was still a Solomons, and quick enough to pick up Alfie’s distress before Alfie could fake a smile. He began to cry.

“Come here, mate, it’s fine. It’ll be fine, she’s smart.” He picked Jacob up and went to seek help from a higher power. 

“Esther, I’m sorry, I need the phone. Right. Abbie?”

“Yes?”

“I may have just L O S T one of our K I D S.”

“Oh Alfie. All right, which one?”

“Shoshanna.”

“Take a deep breath, alright love? I’m not saying this is an ideal situation, but at least it’s not Miriam. She’d end up in France before she looked up from her book.” 

He managed to crack a smile. 

“Call Mrs. Rosenthal, ask her if she’s seen Shoshie. If she hasn’t call Ol- the boys and send ‘em out. She can’t have gotten that far.”

“Why in the fuck would she leave?” 

“She’s seventeen, Alfie. She’s in love and probably upset with you and definitely upset about Ollie.” 

“In love?? With fucking who and don’t try to sell me any shite about fucking Nick the Anglican banker, because I know he’s a fucking front.” He could practically see her picking at her cuticles the way she did when she was unsure. 

“It is possible that she might be seeing someone else.” she started carefully. “It is also possible that they meet occasionally at the docks.” 

“Fuckin-” 

“Alfie. Be nice. She kept it from you for a reason and you should try to prove her wrong. Remember she’s your daughter.” 

“You’re right. I miss you, I love you, and I have to go retrieve our fucking daughter from the fucking docks.” 

He adjusted the holster under the coat before squatting to Miriam who’d lulled Jacob back into a fitful sleep with a description of Alice’s mushroom. “I’ve got to get Shoshanna back. Can you mind him and Esther?” 

Miriam nodded absently before turning a page.  
“I’m serious. Don’t let them fucking play with matches.” 

“Yes, Dad.” 

He was practically out the door when she called “She meets him on the West Side docks.” 

“Does everyone in this fucking family know things without telling me?” Esther pivoted on one foot, interrupting her dancing routine to add “Yes.” Miriam merely nodded. 

“Fucking figures. ‘S a fucking matriarchal conspiracy.” 

“A message came on the phone, and you never asked who it was from or how they got your number. Is it the matriarchy, Dad, or are you just not paying attention?”

Alfie grumbled and growled and locked the door very carefully behind him. The West Side docks, right. But who was that, across the corner store? He waved at Mische; Mische waved back. All right, now he felt better. He almost asked Mische to come with, but then thought better of it. He’d rather get murdered on his way across town than have the men know that he lacked the most basic piece of strategic intelligence on his own family that you could have on anyone; namely, who they were seeing. Well, usually, the right word was fucking, but as this was Shoshanna, he refused to entertain the possibility.

It was wicked cold, but his coat and scarf were warm. He hailed a cab, recognized the driver, and was inevitably drawn into a conversation about the endless state of construction that Kingsroad Bridge was in, which then slid into an uncomfortable, conspiracy-theory-esque rant on the state of London’s City Council. By the end of it, Alfie was glad to get away. 

“Stay here, all right? I’ll pay extra. I just need a guaranteed ride back the minute I find what I came for.” He knew this would mean that Shoshanna’s trip would get all around Camden Town, but frankly it would teach her a lesson and he didn’t have it in him to spend a long time trying to persuade suspicious cabbies to take Shoshanna and him back.

The cabbie only nodded, familiar enough with him to not ask any questions. Alfie strode out into the night and the miserable barely-rain of London to find his daughter. 

“Ay, mate, you seen a girl? Seventeen, short hair?” 

The guard blinked at him blearily. “Lotsa girls round here.” 

“Well this one’s fucking important.” He pulled out the gun. “Think fucking carefully, alright? Wouldn’t want you to lose your head over a silly mistake.” That shook the guard out of his stupor enough to point towards a warehouse nearby. 

“It’s dark, I dunno if it’s the one you’re looking for.”

Alfie smiled like a shark. “Thank you for your service.” 

He didn’t kick the door in, no matter how tempted he might’ve been. Abbie was right, this required fucking finesse. Not kicking in doors. He steeled himself to see her kissing some fellow or worse, but was left undone by what he did see. 

His daughter, his first born, the girl whose scraped knees he’d bandaged, was crumpled on the dirty floor of a warehouse that from the smell of it was used to store rotting fish, weeping. Crouched next to her was some fucker in a suit, awkwardly patting at her shoulder. 

“It’ll be alright, love.” Alfie flagged the Birmingham lilt in the back of his brain somewhere, before tucking the gun back into his brace. 

Softening his posture as much as he could, he stepped forward. At the sight of him, her wails got louder, and the fucking Birmingham defiler stood, ready to bolt. 

“Shoshanna” no, too loud. “Shoshie. Come home, alright? We’re worried. Miriam’s in charge, so the fucking flat’ll have burned down by now.” Sniffling and pulling at the God forsaken, too handsome, Brummy serpent, she came to standing. 

“You’re angry.” She still hadn’t let go of his arm, a fact he also flagged.   
“No, Shoshie, I’m not.”   
She squinted at him through puffy eyes. 

“Swear?” 

“I do, Shoshie, I really fucking do.” 

She, thankfully, let go of the goyim’s arm before he had to break it and stepped forward. “You know you can’t break a vow. S’ in the Torah.” 

“I know. Please come home.” She turned to the corrupter of virtue. 

“I’m going home. I’ll talk to you later.” He was tempted, so tempted to say something along the lines of absolutely fucking not, but even across the Atlantic, Abbie steadied him. With one more scared look at Alfie, the boy bolted into the shadows. It was almost fine, until Alfie saw the trademark glint of a razor tucked in a cap. 

“You’re in here with a fucking BLINDER?” 

At this, Isaiah skidded to a stop. Alfie could see the battle between common sense and ego playing out on Isaiah’s face. (Or was it between common sense and loyalty? No, with a boy this age, it was ego.) Alfie glared at just the wrong moment, hoping to tip the calculation, and got exactly the opposite of the effect he desired; Isaiah crept up a few steps behind Shoshanna and got that stubborn look that, in Alfie’s younger days, had only ever ended in blood.

“I didn’t know she was your daughter when I first met her.”

Shoshanna began backing away, pushing Isaiah back behind her. “I told you, I’ll talk to you later.”

“I’m not going if he’s gonna…”

“If I’m--” For a moment, Alfie’s body could not possibly contain that much outrage, much less expel it in articulate form. Then: “I told--” And again. Fucking hell, Tommy. He had to give it to him, this was entirely out the blue, but it also simplified Alfie’s complicated fucking feelings all down to a nice pure rage. Which was not in Tommy’s favor at all. 

“We are going, Shoshanna. Now.” 

Even Isaiah picked up on the added rage, and so made no efforts at all to stop Shoshanna from walking briskly forward and grabbing Alfie by the arm. “Fine. But no fighting tonight.”

“Not here, anyways,” rumbled Alfie.  
“Not with him.”

“Not tonight.”

“Fine. Let’s go.” Finally she managed to turn Alfie round, breaking off the staredown, and hustling him back towards the cab. 

Inside, the cabbie greeted her with a big smile, launched into his Kingsbridge Road tirade, and was smoothly diverted by Shoshanna into a two-way conversation about the temple repairs. Meanwhile, Alfie sat there, rage quite as fierce as before, but confusion growing. As a tactical maneuver, there were very few cases in which it made sense. And none of them seemed to be happening, and what the fuck. 

He waited until they’d made it from the cab to the flat and had the door securely bolted behind him before he turned to her. 

“Shoshanna Abigail Solomons. When you were born, right, in that fucking bedroom, I swore to myself that I would never let anything or anyone hurt you. Solemn fucking vow. But I apparently did not account for the fact, when I was holding my tiny baby in my fucking arms, that you had some kind of fucking death wish.”

“Dad-” 

“What in the FUCK were you thinking. People have fucking died in this fucking flat. In recent memory. I cannot comprehend, mate, how you could see what happened to Ollie, plan his fucking funeral all day, and then decide to sneak off in the dead of the fucking night and go to a warehouse at the docks and meet a PEAKY FUCKING BLINDER. A gangster who has probably murdered a hundred girls like you.” 

“Well-” 

“In cold fucking blood mate. What are you going to do? You’re only a little thing, and they have guns and knives. I’d rather you marry a fucking Anglican than a Peaky. You can be the fucking Prime Minister’s wife. You can have any man you’d like- and he’d be lucky to have you Shoshie, truly- but why would you meet up with a fucking gangster, hmm?” 

“He-” 

“I will fucking tell you why. It’s because God is punishing me for my numerous sins. The Almighty is the only possible explanation for why my daughter could be so fucking stupid and pick the worst possible man.” 

“Dad?”   
Alfie blinked at the sight of Miriam in her nightgown, pillow creases on her face. 

“Can you stop shouting please? I don’t want to read Jacob the story about the dog again.” 

“Sorry, Miriam.” 

“S’okay.” She shuffled back towards the bedroom, having thoroughly disarmed him. He collapsed heavily into the chair. 

“Just, fucking explain. Please.” 

Shoshana sat across from him. “I didn’t know he was a Peaky until later. I thought he was a businessman expanding into London.” Alfie snorted at this and she gave him a look. “And he was nice, and we talk.” 

“Nick?” 

“Is a friend who graciously agreed to face my fucking mad father.” 

Alfie pinched the bridge of his nose. “There’s no chance he’s Jewish, is he.” 

The set expression on Shoshie’s face answered. 

“Fuck.” 

Before Alfie could sink into too deep a downward spiral, Shoshanna’s voice cut in. “Look, Dad, I know you met Mum and that was it and everything was easy and bloody, or whatever, but two is not a very large number to the rest of us.”

“It wasn’t easy.”

“I did say ‘and bloody.’”

“It wasn’t easy, either. We had almost everything fall into place, and we still almost didn’t get married.”

Shoshanna froze.

“Yeah. It’s a story for another day. But look, isn’t there enough? Isn’t there enough people that want to kill us, or don’t want us around, enough disease and accidents, enough family trouble, without you getting involved with a Peaky Blinder, basically a young man who kills people for money--”

“Like a soldier.”

“Not like a soldier at fucking all.”

“Like you, then.”

“Killing aside, he lives in Birmingham, he’s sworn allegiance to other people, and he’s not fucking Jewish.”

“Black, you mean.”

“Kills people, too.”

“We’ve been over the killing people, Dad.”

“This is not even mentioning that now you’ve dragged the Good Anglican into it, you’ll be breaking hearts in two directions.”

“Nick will be fine.” She was good at confidence, he thought. Either that, or she actually believed it. “Look, Dad, I’m sorry I gave you a scare, I just needed to get away. And I hate that I have to escape to get away. It makes it worse, you know.”

“Makes what worse?”

“This feeling that you’ll never let me be anyone but your daughter. Which...I guess I understand. But it’s making us opponents, Dad.”

“I didn’t realize you felt that way,” he said, which was pure Abigail. His own brain was drifting off somewhere far far away.

“You just didn’t realize it was happening,” she said. “But I snuck out for the first time when I was fourteen. It’s been a while.” She was huddled up with her arms round her knees, but she didn’t look scared. “You think you’re offering me a return to what’s normal, but that’s not the choice that’s actually happening here. I’m offering you the choice to change, or we can keep on going like this. Maybe I’ve lost the advantage of surprise, but Dad, you’ve never been up against family before, and I’m guessing you’re shit at it. An educated guess.”

Literally nothing he could think of was the right thing to say, so he let the silence sit.

“I’d have never seen London otherwise,” she said. “Or an elephant, or a play. A real play, Dad, not a kid’s play. Or eaten a pomegranate. It’s not really stealing if what you’re stealing back was yours in the first place.”

For probably the first time in his entire life, he was completely silent. A few minutes went by, broken only by the grandfather clock chiming midnight. 

“Miriam says you want to go to school to be a nurse.” 

Shoshanna nodded. He bowed his head. 

“Right. We still need to meet him though. When your mum comes home.”

Shoshanna mulled it over. “Be nice to Miriam and Esther too, when they’re interested.” 

“Alright.” She stuck her hand out, and he stared at it for a moment before accepting it and letting her help him up. 

“Maybe I’ll learn how to help your knee.” 

He huffed out a laugh. “If you do that you can marry whoever you want.” 

A look crossed her face. “Who said anything about getting married?” 

He opened, then promptly shut his mouth. Another discussion for another day. He could not wait for Abigail to come back so he wouldn’t be outnumbered anymore, though with enough raisins Jacob would probably take his side in anything. 

He opened the door to the bedroom while Shoshanna conducted her nightly rituals. Everyone was still there, thank fuck. He was too old for another child to go missing. He collapsed onto his side of the bed, realized that Abbie wasn’t there and that he could spread out as much as he’d like, then immediately fell asleep. He would figure it all out tomorrow.


	13. Nothing or Grown-Up Business?

He woke up in a hurricane tangle of blankets, gasping, with a splash of water to his face.

Esther was standing over him. “Mum said that’s the way to wake you up, if we didn’t want to get accidentally hit,” she said, before he could object.

“Mm?”

“You’re late, Dad. Put on pants and have some eggs.”

He scrambled up wildly and looked at the clock. Very late! A full half-hour late! Bursting into the kitchen, he found all four of his children dressed, cleaned up, eating, and looking at him like he’d just run onstage at the opera wearing an enormous top hat.

Fucking amazing, how they all managed to get themselves together when he wasn’t paying any attention! Perhaps the key to all of this was benevolent neglect? But then he noticed that Jacob had a smear of something like jam on the back of his neck, and that the scones on the table were a little over-baked. And he remembered Shoshanna was likely still attempting to work her way back from meeting a Peaky Blinder alone at the docks. Right. Maybe it wasn’t something he could count on any other day, but today, he decided not to look this particular gift horse in the mouth.

“Morning,” he said gruffly, sitting down and reaching for a scone. And the table promptly burst into chaos.

“Now you have to tell us!” Esther clamored.

“Tell us, tell us, tell us,” Jacob echoed, banging his little fists on the table. Even Miriam clanged along with her spoon her plate.

Alfie mustered up his Big Man voice. “Now hold on. What’s this?”

“Shoshanna promised to tell us what happened on the docks if we behaved until you woke up.”

He genuinely chortled at that. Glad to know he wasn’t the only one who bribed them into complacency. Shoshanna raised an eyebrow at him. 

“Go on then.” 

Alfie cleared his throat. “It’d be lovely if I had a cuppa before I told the story.” 

Miriam plunked a mug in front of him and splashed some tea in before settling back with her head on her fists, looking rapt. 

“Well then, your fucking silly older sister decided to sneak out while I was talking to your mum on the phone, didn’t she? Very rude. So, being the caring and all knowing dad I am, I can sense in my heart where all my children are at all times. So I go down to the docks, and I have a lovely chat with a security guard who remembers the teenage girl who came down there all alone despite the numerous murderers and thieves in this fucking city and I pop in and rescue her and we have another discussion about safety and now here we all are eating scones.” 

Miriam and Esther looked skeptical, but Jacob looked delighted. But he always looked delighted with jam involved. 

“What about the boy?” Esther asked

“Oh well, we had a chat too. Lovely young man. Going to be a priest.” Shoshanna looked like she was about to burst at that one. Esther looked confused. 

“Another Anglican?” 

“Oh, no, Catholic. Chastity and all that.” 

“Excuse me.” Shoshie left and he could hear her giggling down the hall. 

Miriam raised her single eyebrow and let it drop. Esther was disappointed. 

“Did you kill anyone?” 

“No, course not!” 

“Oh.” 

All this had gone right over Jacob’s head. Bored with the conversation, he’d produced the little wooden horse and boy figurine from his pocket and was galloping it around the edge of the plate. Poor Nick, Alfie thought without a smidge of real feeling. In fact he was almost smug. This was far more like the youth he remembered; getting your heart trampled on by a girl who was using you to cover up her rival Brummie boyfriend was altogether much more Alfie’s speed than whatever Nick had said at the table about an eventual marriage. Those were the days. (He chose to ignore the bits where he’d cried.)

The screech of chair legs against floor interrupted this train of thought, and he looked up to see Miriam getting up to wash the dishes.

“I’ve got it, mate, spare yourself,” he said, getting up too and hastily shoveling the last of the scone into his mouth.

“You haven’t even dressed, Dad.”

He grunted, gave her a quick kiss on the cheek, and then went off to his room to dress up. “Get the jam off Jacob, too,” he called through the door.

“Already did,” Esther called back.

Thanks to Shoshie’s bribery, they all got out of the house at a reasonable hour, Shoshie off to her job, Miriam and Esther off to school, and not a fight in sight. Not even a little one.

“Now what?” he asked Jacob. Jacob pulled on his beard. “Ow, not that.” He knew that he could drop Jacob off at Mrs. Rosenthal’s, but the poor woman had done so much for them already and he didn’t really want to let any of his children out of his sight after the last few days they’d had.

“If I chuck the rum in a cabinet, it’ll be fine, won’t it?” he said as he headed towards the bakery. “All the weapons are out of reach. I think.” He was deep into brainstorming how to Jacob-proof his office when he passed by one of the local volunteers.

“See you tonight, Alfie.” 

“See you tonight, Simon.”

He entered, gave a few orders with Jacob again waving like a prince, gathering waves back all the way up the stairs and down the hall, and finally sat Jacob down in a chair with a book of maps.

“Listen mate, you need to stay there. Just for a bit, okay?” He glanced over the new stack of reports and decided nothing was so urgent he couldn’t take a few minutes first. He picked up the telephone.

“Operator. Thomas Shelby, Birmingham.”

There were people chatting in the background when the phone finally picked up. 

“Hello?” It sounded like a brother, the little one. 

“Can I speak to Thomas Shelby please?” 

“Yeah, hang on.” In the background he heard someone bellow Tommy’s name and what might be a champagne cork popping. It was eight thirty in the morning but to be fair if he lived in Birmingham he’d drink the day away too. He could hear a conversation getting louder. “Finn, I’ve fucking told you, when someone calls you ask them their name.” 

“I’m not your bloody secretary.” 

There was an exasperated sigh and then “Hullo?” 

“Sounds like a fucking party, Thomas! Should I be offended I wasn’t invited?” 

“Hello Alfie. What can I help you with?” 

“I believe I made it very fucking clear when you came down the river all those years ago looking for trouble that I had a very important rule regarding Jewish women.” 

“Last I checked, I’d been sticking to Protestants.” 

“That may be so, but some of your boys haven’t. And that rule goes fucking triple in regards to my daughter.” 

“Jesus, the little one?” 

“Fuck no. Birmingham would be salt and ashes. My oldest.” 

“How many fucking kids do you have, Alfie?’

“None of your concern. What is of your concern is telling your boy Isaiah that the only reason he has teeth is because of my daughter’s high regard for him and also sharing as much information about him, his family, and how the fucking stars were aligned when he was born.” 

“Right.” He could hear a chuckle in Tommy’s throat. “I can’t speak for the stars, but his dad’s a preacher. Jeremiah Jesus. Nice enough, I’ve known him since he was little. Not sure I’d want a daughter dating a gangster, but who am I to talk?” 

Alfie snorted. “Jeremiah Jesus? That can’t be his real name.”

“As far as I know.”

“Look him up in your records, I want his birthday, citizenship, everything.”

“I’m at home, Alfie. Do you hear that?” In the short silence that followed, Alfie definitely caught a bit of Arthur shouting, followed by a childish screech of joy.

“Then ring up your office and make one of your people read out his file to you.”

“They’re locked up.”

“What work does he do?”

“Standard stuff, done well.”

“If you don’t fucking cooperate, I’m going to drive down during one of your fancy little parties, and we’ll see just how progressive your Labour leaders are when a Jew crashes the party.”

“Sounds like it could be a threat. Or it could be encouragement.”

“I’ll bring halfadozen men with me.”

“I thought we’d moved past threatening each other, Alfie.”

“I thought you were going to leave London alone.”

Voices came closer. “I’ll talk to Isaiah. I have to go.”

“And get me that fucking information!” Alfie got in just before the click.

“Motherfucker fucking hung up on me,” he said to Jacob.

“Ooh,” Jacob said.

“That’s fine. S’ fucking fine. But as soon as your mum gets back, I will drive up to Birmingham and I will get my fucking dues.” 

“Mummy!” 

“That’s right, my boy. Mummy would fucking murder Tommy Shelby, wouldn’t she?” 

Jacob cooed and let the maps slide onto the floor. Alfie scooped him up and let him tug at his beard some more. There was a knock at the door and David, who bless him, was too stupid to pour water out of a boot if the instructions were on the heel, popped his head in. 

“Visitor, Mr. Solomons.” 

“Oo is it?” 

David blinked at him. “Some bird.” 

“Do you have a name for her or am I just supposed to guess?” 

“I dunno, sir, she didn’t give me one. Just that she’s here to see you.” 

He sighed. “Thanks, David. I’ll meet her outside in a moment.” 

David stayed in the doorway. 

“Go fucking tell her I’ll be there one fucking second.” That was enough to push him towards the mysterious visitor. He crouched. 

“Jacob, stay here, alright? Daddy’ll be back in a tick but play with the horsie underneath the desk, yeah? S a fucking cave, mate. Horses live in caves.” Probably not true, but Jacob wouldn’t correct him on it. He stood, had his knee crack in a terrible but deeply satisfying way, and pulled his holster from the top shelf and onto his shoulders. Jacob burbled about bats under the desk.

“Alright, where is she, David?” He pointed up towards the vats. A beskirted figure lowered herself from the ladder. 

“Oi, get down from there!” She swung down and turned to face him, and he stumbled. One of the men whistled, and he managed, in one quick motion, to knock him upside the head with the cane as he walked towards her. 

“Abbie” he whispered, before folding her into his arms. 

For a moment, her feet didn’t even touch the ground. Then he set her down, and she pulled back an inch and smirked up at him. “All the children still alive?”

“How--”

“An airplane. I worked all the family business out with Uncle Simcha the day after the wedding, and after I heard about Ollie, there wasn’t any point in staying longer.” She glanced over his shoulder. “Love, you do realize there’s a Marxist pouring the molasses?”

Ah yes. Other people. There were other people around. He cleared his throat. “It has to do with Ollie. Let’s go upstairs and I’ll tell you everything.”

Jacob squealed at the sound of his mother’s voice coming up the stairs and bolted from the horse cave/desk and wrapped his arms around her neck. She smiled and cooed at him, and while bouncing him on her hip as he chatted about his horses, she turned to Alfie. 

“Alright, have you fallen to the Communists? I was only gone for a few days.” 

Alfie drew her in for one more kiss, giving Jacob the opportunity to tug firmly on his dad’s beard. 

“Fucking hell, Jacob.” 

“Fuckin fuck, Dad,” Jacob burbled back.

“Aw.” Abbie kissed Jacob’s downy head. “He’s such a late bloomer. Do you remember the first time Esther cursed?”

“The same day she said Dad for the first time? It’s more funny for you than it is for me.”

“It’s always funny. Jacob, dear, don’t say fuck until you’re older, okay? Just trust your mum on this, you’ll have plenty of opportunities later in life.”

“Mm.”

Abbie settled herself down in the big chair behind the desk, continuing the conversation but also flicking through the week’s reports with her right hand, holding Jacob with her right, and bouncing Jacob up and down on her knee. “So, the red invasion?”

“I’d hardly call three of them an invasion.”

“I counted four.”

“Well, they all volunteered, and it’s only temporary. They felt bad about Ollie.”

She chuckled. “You’re so soft, Alfie Solomons. Is this a company or a children’s play?”

“It should all be over tonight, if things go well.”

She raised an eyebrow perfectly. Miriam had had to get it from somewhere, he supposed. 

“Need a hand?”

“I need someone to make sure Shoshie doesn’t fucking flee again.” 

“Fair point.” She stretched and yawned, shifting Jacob back into the horse cave. “Come home safe though, I’ve got something important to share.” 

“Well, Abbie, why the fuck wouldn’t you just tell me now?” 

She smiled impishly. “Where’s the fun in that? Now, where’s Goliath?” 

“Mm, think he’s downstairs, why?” 

“Can you get him?” 

He stood and bellowed down the staircase. A few moments later, the heavy tread of Goliath’s size 16 boots announced his presence before he stood at the door. 

“Hello, Aunt Abigail.” He dutifully bent far far down and pecked her on the cheek. 

“Hello, Goliath. Would you mind taking Jacob for just a moment? Alfie and I need to discuss something in private.” 

“Course. C’mon Jacob.” They left, and Alfie turned to her. 

“Did you change your mind? Go on, what is it?” 

She scoffed. “Of course not. But I haven’t seen my husband in three days, and I have some thoughts that are not exactly cohesive with a toddler in the room.” 

“Wot thoughts?’ 

She flung something lacy at him, and he straightened. “Right. Those thoughts. Good thoughts. Fan fucking tastic thoughts, really.” 

“Alfie?” 

“Yes?” 

“Shut up and come here.” 

He did.

About five minutes later, Mische ascended the stairs, heard a bit of noise, turned, and fled.

Some time after that, they were sitting side by side on the edge of the desk, she still flicking through reports, he rambling on about the last few days. When he was halfway into a rant about Mr. Smith and halfway through untangling her hair, she cut in.

“So what’s the verdict on him? Does he want to fuck me, or does he just think you’re impossible to talk to?”

“I’ve instigated a total of zero fistfights with the man.”

“And you’ve threatened his life?”

“Once, very subtly.”

“Mm. All right, I’ll drop in on him when I go to pick the girls up, but I’m bringing Goliath.”

Now that he didn’t have to do any of it anymore, he found himself feeling not relieved, but crestfallen. He’d come to enjoy the children’s gossip and intrigue, wanted to know what would happen with Rachel the Russian and to figure out how Miriam had sorted the library so quickly and all the rest. “Why not bring me?”

“Thought you’d have plenty of work to catch up on.”

“I’ve been doing alright.”

She gave him a look over her shoulder.

He amended: “I’ve been doing adequately.”

“Mm.” She handed over one newspaper cutting. “I take it this is a trap for Councilman Bayer?”

“Yes, do you like it?”

“It’s so mean-spirited. I love it.” She gave him a quick kiss. “So where are you on Shoshie?”

“Twenty-story tower, dig a moat, hire a dragon, the lot.”

“Alfie.”

“Well, what do you think?”

She gave him a strong look. “Not an answer.” 

“Can I help it that I want my beautiful wife’s opinion? Especially since she’s a fucking genius?” 

She rolled her eyes. “I think I want my children to be happy and successful and I think that for Shoshie this is part of it. I don’t want her heart broken but sometimes, that’s also part of it.”

“Well, this fucker’s a Peaky Blinder. Probably part of some fucking Tommy Shelby plot to destroy my home.” 

Abbie stiffened. “I didn’t know he was a Peaky. Have you asked Tommy for more information?” 

“This morning. Last name of Jesus.” 

Abbie tipped her head back and howled with laughter. “Oh, Shoshie.” 

“He’s too handsome. Why can’t she see someone nice and normal?” 

“No one nice is going to want to face you, my love. Or Esther.” 

“I miss the Anglican.” 

She bent over and kissed the top of his head. “She’ll settle down eventually. I have to go surprise the girls, but I’ll see you home at supper?” It was a command shaped like a question. 

“Of course, love.” 

“I’ll have Goliath over another night, too. Make fish just like he likes it, as a thank-you for the babysitting. Is Thursday good?”

“Thursday’s good.”

“When the children are in bed, we still have to settle a few things.”

“I know.”

“Mind those Communists, now.” 

He settled her coat round her shoulders and called amiably after her:  “Mind you don’t get seduced by that Scottish teacher.”

Without breaking stride, she waved her middle finger at him. Trotting down the stairs, she gave the factory a quick once-over, counting every head--and yes, she had got it right the first time, there were definitely four communists--and then decided Alfie had it in hand. Outside, the air was crisp, and she picked up the pace, looking every inch a woman on a mission, so that she was only stopped three times before she got to the grocer’s, and each time managed to keep the conversation to five minutes long at most. Once she got into the grocer’s, though, she enjoyed haggling over a leg of lamb (which was admittedly optional, but deeply satisfying) so much that by the time she lugged all the food home and fetched Goliath, she was almost late to pick up the girls from school.

“Fuck, can you keep Jacob here for just a mo? I’ve got to dash.” Goliath nodded, trying to be stoic, but it was hard when a toddler was tugging at your trousers, asking to be picked up and spun around. 

She rushed down the stairs. Mrs. Rosenthal stuck her bespectacled head out of her window as she hurried down the street, and she tossed off a wave while she kept walking. She did not have time for a twenty minute delay as they chatted about the weather, not with Stevens and Esther getting into God knows. As she rounded the corner for the school she rearranged the pins in her hair and tugged her shirtwaist down a little. Not that she needed it, she’d been getting bustier lately. 

Mr. Stevens was looming over the schoolyard like a dark cloud. She walked up confidently. Miriam saw her first and brightened, then tugged on Esther’s sleeve. They ran towards her and enveloped her in hugs. She kissed them both and straightened. Stevens was already on his was over. 

“Mrs. Solomons. Do you have a moment to discuss your daughters?” 

She blinked up at him. “Oh, hello Mr. Stevens. Yes, if it’s only a moment. We have another engagement.” 

“Perhaps another time then. We can have a personal appointment.” The way he emphasized personal left little to no doubt as to what he meant.

“Of course. I’ll be in touch with your office.” She’d send Alfie instead, the prick deserved to be blustered at for an hour or so. Or maybe they’d go together and neck in his office. She smiled sunnily at Stevens. “Come along, girls.” 

At home, she settled into cooking with gusto, mindful as always to keep one tiny bit of her mind floating away from the food, just enough to catch an unexpected splash or silence. But the children were lovely, more affectionate than usual, and she even caught Esther attempting not to fight with Miriam on two separate occasions. By way of a tacit reward, Abbie gave Esther an impromptu lesson on how to fillet a flounder, while Miriam wrinkled her nose and attended to the new potatoes and Jacob sat drawing endless tiny horses on an old notebook.

Abbie was so pleased with herself when Alfie and Shoshanna finally got back, but then Shoshie said, “Mum?” and she turned around to find endless tiny horses all over the wall.

“Is that--”

“It’s only pencil,” said Esther.

“Then forget about it. Come here, I demand hugs,” said Abbie, and Shoshie enthusiastically obliged.

“Your hair!” 

Shoshie ruffled it. “Isn’t it modern?”

Abbie laughed and fidgeted with the edges. “You must be trying to give your poor father a heart attack. This and dinner in the same week?” 

Shoshie smiled in a way that was far too knowing for someone her age. “Get it all done at once.” 

Abbie smiled back. “Maybe I’ll get a haircut like yours.” Turning away from Shoshanna and her shocked expression, she stirred the potatoes with a chuckle. 

Jacob toddled over and clung to her skirts, leaving the horses abandoned. She scooped him up and inhaled deeply. The girls hadn’t smelled like babies in ages, and Jacob was starting to lose the smell too. 

“Mum?” 

“Yes, dearest?” 

“I think I want to go back to school. Be a nurse maybe.” 

“Your father and I will put that one in the queue for tonight’s talk.” Abbie gave her one last quick kiss, then turned round to grab oven mitts and check on the potatoes. 

“Oi,” Alfie protested. “Where’s my kiss? I’ll take that.”

“With your bare hands?” She bustled away as Jacob, who had been attempting to scale the countertop via nifty cabinet-handles, decided to use Alfie instead and got halfway up his back before Shoshanna plucked him off. 

“Maybe I missed you,” Alfie said.

“You just saw me.”

He made one of those half-scoff, half-grunt sounds from behind the wilderness of his beard, and she gave him a kiss on the cheek as she passed.

Esther groaned her disapproval. “Mum!”

“What?”

“Stop doing that!”

“Doing what, darling? Ooh, the potatoes are perfect, thank you Miriam.”

“You’re welcome,” Miriam said, and Abbie thought that would be that, after a precious few seconds’ silence, but then Esther burst out again: “It’s just strange!”

“What is?”

“You can’t flirt with Dad. You’re  _ married  _ to him. What’s the  _ point? _ ”

“I think this may be one of those things that makes more sense to you when you get older.”

Esther made a face. “I hate that answer.”

“I know, love, but it’s mostly true. Look, I mostly do it to annoy him. It’s like a very specific mix between loving him and fighting him and I can do it while I’m also cooking dinner, so it’s very convenient. If you ever get married, I hope you won’t stop. It’s good fun. It’s like a sport, all right?”

“I thought you hated sports.”

“I do hate sports. No metaphor is perfect. Did you pocket my filleting knife? Give it back. Thank you.”

“Sorry,” mumbled Esther, although from the way her dark eyes flicked from mum to dad and back again, she clearly was thinking about something beyond remorse.

“You do it to annoy me, eh?” said Alfie from his place by the door. 

“Almost anything I do, I can do to annoy you. Don’t stand around, make some dough for tomorrow’s breakfast, be useful.”

“I was just useful all day,” he said, though he said it while stooping over to measure out flour from the bin.

“So was I.”

“Did you marry me to annoy me?”

“I like to think it’s made the process more convenient for both of us.”

“You’re doing it again!” said Esther.

Alfie responded by turning, grabbing Abbie by the waist and dipping her for a long kiss. She swatted at him with an apron. 

“Mum’s blushing.” observed Miriam. Esther made a disgusted noise and stormed out. 

“Esther, put the knife back.” Esther stormed back in and put the knife on the counter. 

“Tell Shoshie dinner soon!”

Alfie was kneading the bread aggressively. 

“When are you going out?” 

“Midnight.” She nodded and pressed a kiss to the side of his beard. 

“I’ll be waiting.” 

Miriam looked up from her book. “What’s happening at midnight.” 

“Nothing.”     “Grown-up business.” 

Miriam raised her eyebrow. “Is it nothing or grown-up business.” 

Abbie cocked her head. “Both. Can you set the table please?” 

Jacob was whining, so she picked him back up. He nuzzled into her neck. Abbie leaned against the counter where Alfie was tucking the dough into a bowl which he covered. 

“I love you, you know that?” 

Maybe other people couldn’t decipher expressions underneath that absolute forest of a beard but she hadn’t spent decades staring at that face to not pick up on a smile when she saw one.

“I love you too, you silly woman.” 

“Take Jacob then, I have to use the loo.” 

Alfie plucked Jacob out of his mother’s arms. Jacob looked undecided about whether or not to continue pouting; on one hand, he did have Alfie’s full attention, but on the other, in this house, attention could be lost pretty easily. “Do you wanna knead the dough?” Alfie asked him, very soberly.

Jacob considered it. “Awright,” he conceded.

“All right, then.”

When Abbie got back, Jacob was his usual sunshiney self, the table was set, and Shoshanna was very nearly done erasing all the horses off the wall.

“Dinner!” Abbie declared. It was a completely unnecessary declaration, but it worked a treat: in mere minutes, every child was sitting at the table, and Miriam even had her napkin in her lap to catch crumbs. Alfie watched in wonder.

“Maybe you ought to sit at the head of the table,” he said.

“You’re at one end, I’m at the other,” she said. “Head’s just a matter of perspective. Eat your greens, Shoshanna.”

“I’m seventeen, mum,” 

“And perennially in danger of vitamin deficiencies when I’m not around.”

Shoshanna tsked but ate them anyway. 

“Elbows off the table, Esther.” 

Slumped over onto her elbows, Esther made a face. 

“But why?” 

Abbie reached over and straightened the pink ribbon in her hair. 

“Because one day you might have to eat dinner with some toffs, and if you put your elbows on the table you won’t be able to reach into their pockets.” 

Esther considered it and dropped her elbows. Alfie guffawed, then, with a look from Abigail, dropped his elbows as well. Suddenly her stomach twisted. She put her napkin down. 

“Excuse me.” She strode towards the living room and started to take deep breaths. 

Alfie stormed in moments after and stood across from her. He wasn’t good at this really; he had a hard time with problems he couldn’t shoot or yell at. 

“Abbie, love, what is it? Is it what’s happening tonight? Darling, I swear, it’ll go perfectly.” 

“Alfie-” 

“I’ve got all the boys, and Sabini’s men besides. If all else fails, we’ll send Esther. She’ll fucking flatten em.” 

“Love, I-” 

“Vicious, all of em are. Even Miriam. She probably knows arteries and shite. The most efficient way to kill someone.” 

“Alfie!” 

“Wot” 

“Ithinkimgonna-” 

After a moment, Alfie was staring down at his sick-covered shoes. Abigail grimaced. 

“It’s okay, love.” Leaving his shoes, he padded across the living room back out to the dining room. She could hear him speaking in gentle tones asking them to clean up, and he returned with a glass of water. 

“Here, drink a bit.” She did as he rubbed her back. 

“What is it love? Do you think it was the airplane?” 

She shook her head. 

“You really are dense, you know that? I’m pregnant, you git.” 

“Wot?”

She leaned forward, forehead to his, and smiled all watery-eyed and lovely. “It’s yours, if you were wondering.”

“What, really?”

“I’m as surprised as anybody.” 

Alfie surged forward and enveloped her in a massive hug, aimed for a kiss but instead found his lips smeared across her cheek as she turned her head and began to laugh. “I just vomited on you, for fuck’s sake!” and then they were both laughing so hard the children all came in and looked at them huddled on the tile as if they were mad. 

“Mum?” said Shoshanna.

“It’s all right, darling.” She looked up at Alfie. “Should we add it to the queue, or…?” 

“Whatever you want, love.”

A twinkle appeared in Abigail’s eye. “We’ll talk about this after dinner. Everyone finish up your plates, tidy up, meet in the living room. Take your time, I’m going to have a bath first.”

“Me too,” said Alfie, standing with her still bundled in his arms, and carrying her off to the bathroom. On the way, Esther hit him in the back of the head with half a potato, presumably in retribution for him flaunting her no-flirting policy.

He tested the water at least three times before he helped her climb in. 

“Wot? It can’t be too hot. Or too cold.” 

“Ridiculous man. I ran from those mad Hungarians when I was nearly seven months with Shoshanna.” 

“And look how that turned out. Anglicans.” 

She laughed, and settled her back against his chest. He stroked a hand along her belly, which had been rounded lately, but he’d chalked that up to his experimentation with pastries last month. 

“How far along?” 

“Mmm, six weeks? Mrs. Caplan’s coming by tonight to see.” 

“Maybe I shouldn’t go tonight.” 

She laughed and cupped his chin. “Because Mrs. Caplan’s coming? Love, if I’m on the kitchen table on my back with you there, I want the context to be quite different.”

He smiled, but that quickly vanished. “I just want you to be safe, innit? Want to meet my new baby.” 

“Oh, Alfie.” She twisted around as best she could in the cramped tub. “It’ll be alright, you’ve done this more times than I can count. Make this a safer place for the baby, hmm?” 

He kissed her forehead. 

“Will do.” He could’ve stayed there forever, listening to the faint, soothing sound of water, stroking her hair, but the children were waiting, so he reached for the soap. Abigail leaned forward and let him suds up her shoulders. 

“What do you think they’ll think it’s about?” she said.

“Not anything too bad. We were laughing.” He thought about it. “Although they’ve all been in trouble these past few days often enough.”

“And for reasons that would make anyone laugh.”

“Except for Jacob.”

“My baby. He’s never too much trouble.” She made a sort of tsking sound. “Aw.”

“What?”

“He’ll be throwing tantrums soon, it’s getting about that age.”

“Can’t be worse than Miriam was.”

“Don’t curse us.”

Alfie knocked on the nearest wood, a floorboard. “Course not.”

“Good man.” Smiling up at him, Abbie accepted a kiss, then climbed out of the bath. 


	14. blood on his face

Retreating to the bedroom amongst Miriam’s squeals about the smell and Esther throwing the sponge at Shoshanna who retaliated by putting the knives out of reach, he sighed. Fuck. A baby. Not that he was anything less than overjoyed, but that made tonight even more important. He couldn’t fuck it up, because if he did there was now another liability. Another fraction of his heart existing out there in the world able to do stupid shit like stealing a filleting knife or asking to be an accountant for a gang, or courting a Peaky fucking Blinder. He wished, half heartedly, that Jews had convents, but realized that if he sent any of his daughters they’d be returned to him in a week. Esther, maybe an hour. He shrugged the shoulder holster on, checked bullets, mumbled a half forgotten prayer. Abbie, wrapped in her robe was waiting outside the bedroom door, and she sent him out with a long kiss. He couldn’t see the children, could not would not interact with them with his death half lingering in the back of his mind. No, if this was it, then so be it, but they were old enough to pick up on his worry and he wouldn’t burden them with it. 

Alfie stopped on the way to the bakery, just long enough to exchange a few quick words with his foreman as they set their pocket watches to the same time.

“I wish you’d let us at it,” Eliazar said. 

“Calm down, your party’s gonna be better than ours.”

“No, it isn’t.”

“No it isn’t,” Alfie agreed. “But there’ll be more drink at yours.” 

They shook hands, and then headed in different directions: Alfie to rally the new troops (and when  had he started thinking of them as recruits? Ugh. They had that flavor, the mix of newness and unit cohesion issues and rage, but he’d never wanted back into any commanding position in any army). Eliazar to start the birthday party for one of their oldest bakery workers, which would culminate in a photograph at exactly the right moment to free all attendees from blame. Alfie would be excused from the photograph on grounds of his family, or at least that was the story they intended to play. It should be all right.

At the factory, Alfie spent a decent deal of time grumbling over the general state of munitions while secretly waiting for Mische, who turned up at the last moment, as he always fucking did.

“Right!” Alfie stood atop a barrel and motioned for quiet. Though he got it, the silence held a certain impatient quality that he recognized. Now was the bit that he was supposed to prate on about honor and community and loyalty, but honestly, he’d had a long day, and they all must already feel it if they were standing there, and--

“Get on with it!” shouted Mische. Maintaining eye contact with Alfie, he produced a flask from his jacket and drank.

Alfie shook his head.  _ You fucker.  _ He really couldn’t make a speech now. “Be quick, boys,” he said. “It’s all about speed and brutality. I want us to rip through this entire household and be in our beds before one.”

“I’m sure you’d like to be back in your bed, eh?”

“Wot was that?”

“Heard Abigail’s back in town.” That was Simon, grinning.

“Right, I want us to rip through this entire household, hang Simon from his heels under the bridge, and be in our beds before one. Has anyone got any questions? You’ve all seen the blueprint, you’ve all been checked, you’ve all been assigned a van, so I’m assuming these must be very fucking smart questions, if you’ve got ‘em.”

And nobody did.

“Right, let’s go.” They all went at it in decent order for men who’d mostly been civilians in the past years. There were a few orders he gave:  _ oi, take this gun instead  _ and  _ switch with Mische, I want a blond driving  _ and, once crouching in the back of the van, a general  _ shut up!  _ But the transport all went well, and though the paths of the vans diverged, they met up in front of the enormous house within seconds of each other. 

“Five minutes, no civilians,” was all Alfie had time to say before he led his group in a short sprint to the kitchen backdoor, reached behind a stack of potato crates, and produced an axe.

“Right, stand back.” It was fucking joyful, it was, to feel and to hear and to see the wood splinter under a few punishing hits with the axe, and then he’d more or less cut the lock out and kicked the door open.

“How?”

He didn’t even look to see which one it was, just charged through. “Fucking preparation, get in, get in, you bastards. Oi!” There was a maid in uniform and a servant boy of some sort, getting handsy by the counter, eyes wide as saucers. He pointed the axe at them. “No,” he said firmly. The girl nodded; the boy just stared, but it was silence so it was fine. They weren’t trying for perfect silence, but it helped him to think if there was less general screaming. “Right, three doors down…” A small group of five split off from his, and the rest followed him up the stairs.

Men, sitting. Men, drinking. Men had been chatting but stopped at the sight of several angry Jews. 

“Go get ‘em boys.” 

There was a brief pause, then chaos. Alfie had blood on his face and had dropped two men already by the time there was a tap on his shoulder. He whirled around, holding his axe and looking fucking murderous no doubt. 

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

* * *

Back at the little flat, Abbie opened the door. Mrs. Caplan, looking as plump and reassuring as she always had, embraced her. She’d looked the exact same for each of her pregnancies. Not a single grey hair had moved, and if she squinted, she was reasonably sure that she’d thrown up on that dress while delivering Shoshanna.

“Hello, love. Ready for the check-up?” 

“I actually had a question. Shoshanna?” 

Shoshie came down the hallway. “Can you come with us to the kitchen?” 

Shoshie shrugged and followed Mrs. Caplan and her practical, battered, case into the kitchen where the dreaded table awaited. 

* * *

Alfie was confused. And it did not do to be confused in the middle of a fucking fight, not with men screaming and bleeding and dying. Fortunately it looked more or less under control, so he dropped his axe and grabbed the shirt collar in front of him.

“I said, what the fuck-” 

What’s-his-name looked stubbornly at Alfie. “I’m here to help. Extra hands.” 

“Wot.” And he wasn’t trying to be thick, truly. But what in the fuck was a Peaky fucking Blinder doing in the middle of a London gang war, especially without Tommy?

The Handsome Defiler swallowed. “I want to marry your daughter.” 

Alfie roared. 

Just then, Mische took a swing at the boy with half a broken chair, and Alfie yanked him out of the way. There was no time to be polite. “Oi! THIS ONE’S WITH US.” And the Peaky bastard looked so chuffed about it, Alfie gave him a quick little smack just to knock that look off before he progressed to the next room. Nobody there. And the next, only a wailing. He peeked in the bassinet. “Oi! Peaky!” Isaiah appeared by his side, a cut high on his arm where previously there’d been none, a splatter of blood all up one pant leg. “Hold it,” he commanded, shoving the baby in Isaiah’s direction. 

“What am I supposed to do with this?” Isaiah called back. 

“Keep it alive or summat, see you on the way back.” Alfie fought his way through to the master suite and gave himself over to God or whatever it was that rolled over him when it was time for hands round necks, for wood cracking against his skull, the slight blurring of vision, the taste of blood, the flat-eyed look of the dead. He checked his watch. Four minutes in, and one to flee. “Right! That’s it!”

“But we haven’t got them all!”

Alfie ran through them in his head swiftly. “Ellis or Harley?” 

“Harley!” 

“Well, get the fuck out. I’ll handle him.”

“What do--”

“Get out!”

And just like that, the tide of men flowed away, stumbling and broken but, he was pleased to see, not leaving behind a single corpse of their own. 

Alfie was left scrabbling at a wall, feeling for the slight fracture, wishing he’d brought a torch or maybe even just his axe.

“What are you looking for?”

Alfie didn’t turn. “What happened to the baby?”

“Put it back down in the bassinet. Couldn’t figure out how to make it stop crying.”

“Look for a door in this,” Alfie commanded. Then: “Did you even try?”

“Tried lullaby, tried rhyme, tried bouncing.”

“What rhyme?”

Alfie thought he might have found the right shape, and pushed against that section of the wall. It didn’t budge.

“Nursery rhyme.”

“Which one?”

“Little Miss Muppet.” Isaiah pushed against the section of the wall to the right of Alfie, and it gave way, revealing a narrow staircase up to the roof. 

Alfie squinted up it. 

“If he’s got a gun, that’s me fucked,” Isaiah murmured.

“You?”

Isaiah took a revolver from the hand of one of the fallen. “Me.” He charged up the stairs.

“Boys and their fucking plans and their girls and their fucking stupid--” Alfie muttered wildly as shots echoed round the little stairwell and he searched the room for a gun not emptied. Finding one only seconds later, he ran up after Isaiah, emerging shortly after into the cool, damp night air. 

Isaiah was leaning against the chimney, smoking a cigarette. A few paces away, Harley lay, still gurgling a little.

Alfie leaned on his knees, panting. “Fucking--” He threw the gun to the ground, then covered the distance and shoved Isaiah’s shoulder so the cigarette fell out of his mouth, still burning. Isaiah merely stomped on it and lit another cigarette.

“Toffs can’t shoot for shit,” he said. “Everyone knows that. You all right?”

“Don’t-- _ you’re  _ bleeding too.”

“Yeah, but I’m not old like you.” There were sirens in the distance. “So what’s the plan?”

* * *

 

Shoshanna was very deliberately keeping her eyes fixed firmly on her feet, but her mother did not seem to mind that she was naked from the waist down, on her back on the kitchen table while someone prodded at her. 

“And did you know that whenever I laugh, I still piss a little?” 

Shoshana flushed a deeper shade of red. 

“I think I heard Jacob.” 

“I want you to take your fingers, yeah, and hook them in your mouth and pull your lips to both sides.” Soshie did, then promptly grimaced at the burn tingling across her mouth. 

“That’s what it feels like. But not your mouth. Your-” 

“Mum! I get it!” 

Abbie pointed at her. “You want to go to school, yeah? You want to be a nurse?” 

“Yes!” 

“You think you can do that with a baby on your hip, screaming at all hours? Only gotten four hours of sleep yourself, tits leaking milk and vomit on all your clothes?” 

“Mum, I’m-” 

“Nappies. All the time. Washing. All the time. And if this lad can’t come to a family dinner, would he be there when it’s three in the morning and the baby’s screaming it’s head off?” 

Shoshie was still red, but this time it was out of anger. “I’m not fucking pregnant!” 

Abbie pointed at her, looking intimidating for someone without pants on. 

“And you’d better not be. If you’re letting someone hop into bed with you, you need to take precautions.” 

“Mum!” 

“Are you using the diaphragm I got for you?” 

“Yes! Jesus!” 

Abbie settled back. “We’re Jewish, dear.”

* * *

 

“Did you shut the door behind you?” 

Alfie scoffed. “Course I fucking did. I’ve been doing shit like this since you were in nappies.”

Isaiah held up his palms in a gesture of peace and peered over the edge. 

“Fucking crawling with coppers.” 

“Put your head back down.”

“I’m looking for--”

Alfie yanked him back by the waistcoat. “You’re shit at taking orders, you know that? Tommy must have some time with you.”

“Nah, I’m dependable.”

They both settled with their backs to the chimney, checking over various small injuries.

“You want a cigarette?” said Isaiah.

“Only if you want a copper charging up to put the fire out.”

“Alright.” 

There was a little sound, a faint rumbling. Alfie began to fear it would rain; it certainly smelled that way, and his leg ached that way. 

Isaiah looked over. “He speaks highly of you, you know.”

“Does he,” said Alfie, in a voice that made no effort to disguise what he thought of that; namely, that it was impossible.

“Yeah.”

“What does he say?”

“‘Alfie might be the maddest bastard in all of London, Isaiah.’” He didn’t add the second bit, prudently:  _ So keep the fuck away from his daughters, alright? _

Alfie grunted. There were two parts to this: firstly, Tommy had given him a genuine compliment, and secondly, he’d called him Alfie. Not Solomons, or Alfie Solomons, or  _ that bastard,  _ although he was sure those still applied. He really thought he’d put this thing to bed, but here was Tommy, on a first-name basis, and damn, he’d have to talk to Abbie about this, he really would. Who else would he talk to?

The silence turned into something comfortable, almost. So naturally, Alfie had to ruin it. 

“Why do you want to marry my daughter?” 

Isaiah looked briefly gobsmacked but recovered quickly. “I love her, don’t I?” 

Alfie let out a noise that sounded exactly like a skeptical horse. “And?” 

“What and? Why’s there have to be an and?” 

Alfie counted off his fingers. “You’re a black brummie whose fucking madman of a boss has tried to kill me at least twice trying to marry a Jewish girl whose dad is even crazier than Tommy.” 

Isaiah attempted a smile. “That just shows how much I care?” 

Alfie settled into the wall as best he could. “We don’t have that much fucking money, you know. If I could live on a big fuck off estate like Tommy, you don’t think I would? Less fucking horses though. Don’t like em.” 

Isaiah wisely stayed silent for a moment. “I’m not- not for the money.” 

“Then what? And before you say anything remember that I might be old but I will push you off this roof coppers be damned.” 

“I can’t fucking see myself with anyone else, alright? My mate took me to a whore but I couldn’t fucking  do anything. I didn’t want to. All I wanted was to see her again.” 

Alfie meditated on this. 

“Look, mate- sir. I came to prove myself, right? Tommy didn’t send me, Shoshie told me you were going out and I knew what happened to your man and I figured you had to be here so-” 

Alfie raised a finger to his lips. Footsteps could be heard below, and voices. They waited in silence until they faded away. 

“And Shoshanna, does she want to marry you?” 

Isaiah bit his lip. “I think so. I haven’t asked yet. If I had your blessing-?” 

Alfie began to chuckle. “You fucking numpty. You don’t even know? You come here in the middle of a fucking battle to ask me and you’re not even fucking sure?” 

Isaiah made a disgruntled sound. “When else was I supposed to ask you?”

“In daylight? After several family dinners? And her word that she really wants you?”

“Couldn’t do it anywhere else, really. Needed you to be too busy killing other people to kill me.”

“There’s been stupider plans,” Alfie conceded. “Not by much, mind you.”

“Thank you.”

Alfie shook his head. “I can’t tell you what to do, but all I’m telling you is that you need her permission before I can even begin considering giving you permission. Not to mention, you’ll need her mother’s.”

“That sounds…”

“Yeah.” Alfie looked over. “Don’t look so fuckin’ discouraged, this is what your youth is meant for. Getting your feelings hurt a lot.”

Isaiah smiled a smile that wobbled very slightly. “Is that what your youth was for?”

“Shut up. My youth was for prison.”

“Not exclusive.”

“Shut up. Fuck.”

It had begun to rain.

“Right, the coppers won’t be enjoying this,” said Alfie, much louder now that the downpour had really gotten going. “Let’s clear out in ten minutes.”

“You want to jump?”

“There’s vines all down the west side of the house. They should help.”

“Alright.” Isaiah wiped his face once, then gave up. “Thanks for not killing me.”

“There’s time yet,” said Alfie.


	15. King of the World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> can't believe we're already here :'(

Mrs. Caplan had gone ages ago after sharing a cup of tea and a hearty laugh at Shoshanna’s expense with Abbie, who was now sitting by the fire with her furious daughter and Jacob in her lap.   
“I cannot believe you would do that! What if she tells people?”   
“Shoshie, love, if Mrs. Caplan shared half of what she knew everyone in Camden would be up in arms. I just want you to be aware of consequences.”   
Shoshanna made a face. “Am I a consequence then? I’ve done the math, you know. I was born five months after the wedding.”   
Abigail stroked her hair. “No, my love, you were not a consequence. You were..an early surprise.”   
Shoshanna huffed and stormed out.   
“Looks like it’s just the two of us then, hmm?” Jacob grabbed at her necklace. She nuzzled into his head and watched the fire crackle. It was a peaceful moment, one she would have enjoyed if there wasn’t that pit of worry in her gut. The door swung open and she stood, cradling Jacob on her hip.   
“Alfie, you’re covered in blood. Who the fuck is that?” He grinned and bounded over.   
“M fine, just my leg. You’re up late, innit?” He leaned not so much up as over and pecked her and Jacob, who squirmed into his dad’s arm.   
Abbie sighed. “Who are you?”  
The boy cleared his throat. “Um. Isaiah Jesus, ma’am.”   
Her eyes widened perceptibly, then narrowed. “You know what, Isaiah? Why don’t--”  
“Isaiah!” Shoshanna flew across the room in a blur of blue dress and brown hair.   
Alfie averted his eyes. “Where’s Miriam when you need her?” he muttered to Abbie.  
“What?” she muttered back.   
“Just--no--”  
Shoshie had apparently recalled the presence of her parents, and, taking Isaiah by the hand, dragged him into the hallway. A door slammed.  
“It’s fine,” Abbie said. “The bathroom door’s the easiest one to pick, thanks to Jacob. But she’ll get bloodstains all over her dress.”  
“I think that’s already happened,” said Alfie grimly.   
“Can you go pry them apart? One minute’s not bad, but five minutes…”  
“He’s injured.”  
“Never stopped you.”  
Alfie grunted, returned Jacob to his mother’s arms, and went to pick the lock on the bathroom door. It swung open empty, but the window was still locked. He checked the girls’ room. Nope. And they were still sleeping. Heavy with dread, he made his way to the master bedroom.  
“Fuck!”  
Abigail had walked up behind him. “It is the only one that’s hard to pick.”  
“Well, after Shoshie learned--”  
“I was there the day we installed it. I know why it’s there.”  
They both stood, watching the door, Abbie bouncing Jacob every now and then.  
“I have an axe!” Alfie shouted.  
No reply.  
“You tried.” Abbie patted him on the shoulder. “Come on, let me put Jacob down, and then I’ll see to you.”  
“In my own bed,” he said miserably.  
“No, Shoshie’s got more taste than that.”  
“Does she?”  
“She does. It’s probably just a great deal of talking. And his injuries.”  
“Yeah, but his shirt’s half destroyed.”  
“So is yours, dear.”  
“But I’m married. I get to destroy my shirts.”  
“All right.”  
Alfie grumbled, but disappeared into the kitchen. Jacob, unused to staying awake so late, was already dozing off in an armchair that dwarfed him. It was, she had to admit, the cutest thing she’d ever seen. And Esther had had a lisp. Cradling him in her arms, she paused by the bedroom door. They were talking, but too quietly to be understood. She prayed that nothing uncomfortable was happening, and then rapped on the door.   
“Shoshie? Jacob’s blanket’s in there and he won’t sleep without it.” The door clicked open to reveal a mostly shirtless Isaiah and Shoshie under the bed.   
“Sorry, Mum, I don’t-” Catching sight of a firmly sound asleep Jacob, Shoshanna’s mouth flattened out.   
“We weren’t doing anything. I just didn’t want Dad to fucking murder anyone at two in the morning.”   
“All the same. And if there’s blood on those sheets Shoshanna, I will have you scrubbing floors for the rest of your life. Keep the door unlocked and remember that I conceived and gave birth to all of my children in that bed.”   
Shoshanna blushed and Abbie left with a self-satisfied smile. After tucking Jacob in, and making sure the other two girls were well, she went back to the kitchen.   
“You can’t make bread every time you’re angry, you know. I’ll get so fat I won’t fit through the door.”   
Alfie grunted, still aggressively kneading.   
“The sanctity of our bed is preserved. Now come sit down and let me take a look at you.”   
Still silent, Alfie sat. She kissed him on the cheek and he cracked a smile.   
“Take your trousers off so I can see your leg.”   
“What’d Mrs. Caplan say?”  
Abbie shrugged. “Definitely pregnant, so I didn’t ruin your shoes for nothing. About two and a half months along. Helped me put the fear of god into Shoshie.”   
“She still want to be a fucking nurse?”   
“I think so. Mrs. Caplan said she could take her on as an apprentice.”   
“Good, good, yeah. Fuck, Abbie that hurts!”   
“It’s only rubbing alcohol. Stay still.”   
“Son of a BITCH.”   
“I’m done! It’s done. I’m going to go get some linens, and Isaiah can sleep on the settee.”   
“And then we can sleep in our own bed?”  
“Yes.”   
Ten minutes later, the children had been evicted, with a few grunts and glares from Alfie, and they were sprawled out like starfish, as they were wont to do after particularly exhausting days.  
Abbie raised her head. “What are you thinking of? You look…”  
“Wot?”  
“Melancholy.”  
“‘S nothing. Nobody got hurt, don’t worry. Just, uh, the Anglican’s gonna take it hard.”  
“I’m sure Shoshie can handle him.”  
“No, hard. Not badly.”  
“Oh, not badly, my apologies.”  
Abbie cuddled into his side, and he played with her dark hair. “I’m glad you’re home,” he said.   
“Me too.”   
“We just barely made it.”  
“Mm.”   
“Was dark days there for a minute.”  
“You’re mixing metaphors, Alfie.”  
“I’m just glad you’re back.”  
“Well, now it’s less romantic.”  
“Is it?”  
“First time, it was just I missed you, and now it’s I can’t handle the children.”  
“Can you?”  
“Not really.”  
Another swell of silence, and then he said: “Glad you picked me, too.”  
“That was sixteen years ago.”  
“And I’ve been glad about it for sixteen years.”  
“Me too.”   
Presently, they were kissing. Eventually, they fell asleep.  
“I’m king of the world!” Isaiah said, contentedly, with Shoshie in his lap, his arm all bandaged up, and a leftover iced morning roll in his hand.   
“Mum’s pregnant, we gotta let her sleep.”  
“Oh, right. I’m king of the world!”   
“You know what you are?”  
“Mm?”   
She kissed him.   
“This is nice,” she said, some time later. “You should go round shirtless more. And eat sweet things.”  
“And what should you do more, I wonder?”  
“Mm…” She thought about it. “Nothing. I’m perfect.”  
“I’ll say.” He grinned.  
Some time later, Shoshie said: “So what did he do?”  
“Who?”  
“Dad.”  
“He took it pretty well.”  
“He didn’t try to brain you?”  
“No.” Isaiah chose to edit out the few smacks and shoves he’d gotten along the way. “He did hand me a baby.”  
“A baby? What was a baby doing in there?”  
“It was a house. It was a family. A crime family, but.”  
“Right.”  
“I couldn’t get it to stop crying.”  
This time, instead of capturing him in another kiss, she stroked his cheek. “The baby made it, right?”  
“It wasn’t injured at all.”  
“Exactly.”  
Isaiah rubbed his forehead. “You’re right, I should--”  
“No, I meant--”  
“You go. Go ahead.”  
“Just...I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to send you into something you’d regret.”  
“That’s not what I meant. I don’t regret doing it, there’s just times when it’s not pleasant.” He looked away. Shoshie’s manner of looking up at him, like she could read every little thought by piercing through his skull, was not quite so charming now that his mind had some more unpleasant contents. “I think I may have killed his father, is all.”  
Shoshanna blinked, and then wrapped her arms around him.   
“Fuck.” Isaiah let out. “Sorry.”   
“It’s okay, my love.”   
“I’m not a good person, Shoshie. If you’re doing this, if we’re doing this for real, you need to know that.”   
“You think I don’t know? You do know who my dad is. You know what he does.”   
“I’m just” and tears were starting to come “fuck, you’re a good person. I don’t want to make you a part of this when you can date someone nice and get a house with a fucking garden. It wouldn’t ever be easy, not if you’re with me, even if I was a fucking clerk or some shit.”   
Shoshanna brushed the tears away with her thumb.   
“You haven’t hidden it from me. I know who you are. I know what you do. I’m not some idiotic girl from the serials, you tit. You haven’t fucking seduced me. I know what I’m getting into.”   
“S dangerous. My boss, his wife was shot in front of him. Bled out in his arms.”   
“Fuck.”   
“I just, I don’t want you to get hurt. But the company’s going legit. And my friend says there’s a place for me if I do some night courses.” He paused. “I could do them in London.”   
Shoshanna smiled, radiant as the sun. “I’d like that.” She nestled into his good arm. “We could take classes together.” Isaiah smiled back.   
A sleepy Miriam appeared from the corridor. “Mum said if you don’t get into bed now she’s converting and having you sent off to a nunnery.”   
Shoshanna left with a peck on the cheek and a readjustment of the pillows. Isaiah, despite it all, slept the most peacefully he’d done since he was a baby.


	16. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> because we love you, the readers, and because we love each other, and because we love the Solomons: here. have a wedding.

“Where in the fuck is my fucking dress, Esther?” Miriam demanded.

Esther, looking miserable and highly uncomfortable in a dress and patent leather shoes, scowled.

“It’s not my wedding. I don’t know.”

“I need it!”

“Clearly.”

With an incomprehensible half-howl of rage, Miriam stomped off to investigate Shoshanna’s room.

“‘S under the table,” Jacob observed.

“I know. I’m waiting for her to get all worn out, raging about it, and then she’ll feel bad when I finally point it out.”

“That’s not very nice.”

“No, but she needs to get some energy out before Clémence gets here.”

“Clem is nice.”

“And that’s why she’s Miriam’s, and I’m not. Well, also I’m her sister. And I hate her.”

“Hm.”

After a moment’s consideration, Jacob fetched the dress from under the table, folded it gently, and walked off with it.

“Don’t,” Esther called after him, but it was halfhearted.

Jacob walked into his eldest sister’s room, where Shoshanna was cuddling a very emotional Miriam. “Here’s your dress.”

“Thanks, J, you look lovely.”

“Handsome,” he corrected her.

“Lovely and handsome.”

Miriam looked at herself in the mirror and started crying again. “Thank you, Jacob!” She threw her arms around him, crushing his small suit.

“You’re welcome,” he said gamely, into her arm.

“Good boy,” said Abbie, from her spot on the bed. “You all look lovely and handsome, every last one of you.”

“Except for Nate.”

“Yes, where is Nathan?”

“Your father’s got him. They’re playing monster in the car.”

“They’ll get their suits all dirty.”

“No, the inside of the car’s plenty clean, and both of them need the energy out. I caught your father almost yelling about the cake.”

“He takes cake far too seriously,” said Shoshanna.

“He takes everything too seriously. Not at all like you, my dear.” Abbie kissed Shoshie, then sighed. “Though perhaps you don’t have to. You look absolutely perfect.”

Abbie’s hug was joined a few seconds later by Jacob, then by Miriam.

“Esther!” she shouted, but it came out quite muffled. Miriam got the idea. “ESTHER!”

“Wot?” Esther appeared in the doorway. “Come on, we’re going to be late.”

“Esther!”

“You’re not going to be late to your own wedding, are you, Shoshie?”

“Esther, Esther, Esther, Esther!” Jacob was chanting now, and the others had joined in.

“It’s actually ten-eleven, Shoshanna. You really will be late.”

“Esther, Esther, Esther, Esther!”

“Ten-twelve.”

“Grab her.”

Before Esther could back away, Abbie’s hand shot out of the group hug and got her by the wrist. “Come on!”

“I don’t wanna,” Esther moaned, but she put up very little fight. “You’re going to ruin your clothes.”

Abbie just snuggled.

“It is actually a bit sweaty,” Jacob said, after a minute or so.

“I told you!” Esther broke away and headed for the car.

“All right,” Abbie sighed. “I guess it really is time.” She kissed Shoshie. “You’re sure, dear?”

“I’m sure.” And although she and Miriam had spent plenty of time in picking out this particular palette, she didn’t need a speck of the makeup they’d applied; excitement worked wonders, and she was ready.

“Okay.” One last squeeze. “Let’s go.”

The ride to the temple was supposed to be full of prayer and congratulations, but, in the Solomons family way, it quickly degenerated into an argument over the relative merits of two different icings, both of which Shoshie had rejected in favor of a third. Miriam, determined to show off, was the only child not involved, as she was driving and keeping her mind focused on the road. Abigail looked back from her spot in the shotgun seat, crosswise to Alfie sitting behind the driver’s seat, and smiled.

 _We made it,_ she mouthed.

 _Almost made it,_ he mouthed back.

There was a particularly loud yelp from Esther. “Mom, Nathan almost tore my dress!”

“Nathan Oliver Solomons, settle down.”

“But--”

“And that’s _all_ I’m going to say about it,” Abbie added firmly.

When at last she’d sent everyone off to take part in the bridal party, Abbie made her way through the throngs of family friends, with many a hug involved, before finally sitting in the front pew.

“I would evict you, but I suppose you’re rather his other father,” she said.

“His real father is about to conduct the ceremony, in front of your God and everyone,” said Tommy.

“I think He’ll survive it,” she said dryly.

“But will your rabbi?”

“He’s making a speech in the first part, we’ve got it all sorted.”

“Mm.”

“You were hoping for more trouble, weren’t you.”

“There’s always more trouble with you, Abigail.”

She tsked. “Your aunt was right.”

Tommy squinted at her. “How-”

“We met briefly in prison.”

If she hadn’t known better, she could swear a smile crossed his face.

“This could mean peace, you know.” He gestured up towards the chuppah/altar. “A wedding.”

“I thought you’d already had peace.”

“Not war. There’s a difference.”

Abigail hmmed. “Suppose so. Alright then, Thomas. Be well. Oh, and if you’d like, there are lots of nice Jewish girls here who’d love to domesticate a gangster. Be good or I’ll introduce you.” She pecked him briefly on the cheek and walked back to Alfie, who immediately put his arm around her and gave Tommy a look. Michael, who’d walked back from forcing Isaiah to breathe into a paper bag, kept his eyes glued to Abbie’s backside.

“Who’s that?”

Tommy chuckled. “Probably the only person who could ruin us.”

Two rows behind them. Miriam was inching her fingers closer to Clémente’s, who waited through the ten minute process with the martyred expression of someone much more comfortable with her sexuality. Ah, well. They couldn’t all be French.

Esther was sitting protectively next to a beaming Rachel, glaring across the room at David who pointedly avoided her gaze. He’d been sending Rachel flirtatious notes in class, and she was not going to let her boy-addled brain reward that fucker. The music started and at the back of the church stood Alfie, Shoshanna and Abbie, arm in arm. They proceeded down the aisle as gangsters and shop girls, gentile and Jew. As Alfie would think privately to himself, ‘S’ fucking biblical.” Shoshanna shone out of every pore, and Abbie was trying her hardest not to bawl. Isaiah looked like he would faint, and his dad reached out a hand to steady him.

“Fuck,” he whispered. Jeremiah pinched him.

“Not in the house of the Lord.”

“Sorry, Dad.”

Up above, Goliath was really hammering away at the piano, which afforded Alfie enough cover to say, “Never thought I’d hand my daughter over to a fucking officer.”

“He’s a captain, Dad. Was a captain.”

“Still an officer, though.”

Abbie smiled a wide, glassy-eyed smile. “All parents should want their children to marry up, love.”

“Officer class isn’t _up,_ it’s--”

And then the music got a little quieter, and they got a little closer.

“Love you,” said Abbie.

“Love you,” said Alfie.

“Love you both,” said Shoshanna.

And then there was silence in the temple.

“Friends…” began the rabbi, and watching Shoshanna’s face, all the other words fell away for Alfie until the moment Jeremiah said, “You may now kiss the bride,” and Isaiah, face shining, looking like he could burst, just stared.

“And son,” Jeremiah said, “You should.”

Shoshie and Isaiah broke out of those rapt looks and into their big stupid grins, and then kissed. Properly. Very thoroughly.

Amid all the cheers, Abbie turned to her husband, face alight. _Now we made it._

He took her hand. _Now we made it._


End file.
